THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


01 


^     n^'    //;f 


SUNRISE 


A  STORY  OF  THESE  TIMES 


BY 


WILLIAM  BLACK 

AUTHOR   ot"' 

"MACLEOD   OF   DARE  "    "THE   STRANGE    ADVENTURES   OF  A   PHAETON" 

"a   princess   of  THULE"    "madcap   VIOLET "    ETC.,  ETC. 


NEW    YORK 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  FRANKLIX  SQUARE 

1881 


WILLIAM  BLACK'S  NOVELS. 


LIBRARY  EDITION. 


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IN  SILK  ATTIRE.    12mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 
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THE  STRANGE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  PHAETON. 

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WHITE  WINGS.    Illustrated.    12mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 


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Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

{^  Any  of  the  above  volumta  will  he  tent  by  mail,  pmtage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  thu   United  Stalei,  on 

receipt  of  the  price. 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTIB  TACS 

I.     A    FIRST   INTERVIEW 5 

II.     PLEADINGS 13 

III.  IN    A    HOUSE    IN    CURZON    STREET 19 

IV.  A    STRANGER 28 

V.     PIONEERS 35 

VI.     BON   VOYAGE  ! 43 

VII.     IN    SOLITUDE 51 

VIII.     A   DISCOVERY 58 

IX.     A    NIGHT    IN    VENICE . 66 

X.     VACILLATION 72 

XI.     A    COMMISSION 80 

XII.     JACTA    EST   ALEA 88 

XIII.  SOUTHWARD 96 

XIV.  A    RUSSIAN    EPISODE 103 

XV.     NEW   FRIENDS Ill 

XVL     A    LETTER 119 

XVII.     CALABRESSA 126 

XVIII.     HER   ANSWER 134 

XIX.     AT   THE   CULTCRVEREIN 142 

XX.     FIDELIO 149 

XXI.     FATHER   AND    DAUGHTER 157 

xxir.   EVASIONS 164 

XXIII.  A    TALISMAN 172 

XXIV.  AN    ALTERNATIVE 180 

XXV.     A   friend's   ADVICE 187 

XXVI.     A   PROMISE 195 

XXVII.     KIRSKI 203 

XXVIII.     A    CLIMAX 210 

XXIX.     A    GOOD-NIGHT    MESSAGE 218 

XXX.     SOME    TREASURES 226 

XXXI.     IN    A    GARDEN    AT    POSILIPO 233 

XXXII.    FRIEND    AND    SWEETHEART 241 

XXXni.     INTERVENTION 249 


4  CONTENTS. 

CH^PTEB  rjISB 

xxxTV.  AN  ENCOinrrER 257 

XXXT.     THE    MOTHER 264 

XXXVI.     THE    VELVET   GLOVE 2*72 

XXXVIl.     SANTA    CLAUS 280 

XXXVin.    A  SUMMONS  287 

XXXIX.     A    NEW   HOME 295 

XL.    A   CONCLAVE 802 

XLL     IN    THE    DEEPS 310 

XLII.    ,A   COMMUNICATION 318 

XLIII.     A    QUARREL 325 

XLIV.     A    TWICE-TOLD    TALE 332 

XLV.     SOUTHWARD 340 

XLVI.    THE    BEECHES 346 

XL VII.     AT  PORTICI 354 

XLVIII.     AN    APPEAL 362 

XLIS.     AN    EMISSARY 371 

L.     A  WEAK    BROTHER 378 

LI.    THE    CONJURER 386 

LII.     FIAT  JUSTITIA 393 

LIU.     THE    TRIAL 401 

LTV.    PUT  TO  THE   PROOF 408 

LV,    CONGRATULATIONS 415 

LVI.     A   COMMISSION 424 

Lvn.   farewell! 431 

LVin.     A   SACRIFICE 439 

LIX.     NATALIE   SPEAKS 447 

LX    NEW  SHORES 456 


S  TJ  isr  E  I  S  E. 


,  CHAPTER   I. 

A     FIRST     INTERVIEW. 


One  chilly  afternoon  in  February,  while  as  yet  the  London 
season  had  not  quite  begun,  though  the  streets  were  busy  enough, 
an  open  barouche  was  being  rapidly  driven  along  Piccadilly  in 
the  direction  of  Coventry  Street ;  and  its  two  occupants,  despite 
the  dull  roar  of  vehicles  around  them,  seemed  to  be  engaged  in 
eager  conversation.  One  of  these  two  was  a  tall,  handsome,  mus- 
cular-looking man  of  about  thirty,  with  a  sun-tanned  face,  pierc- 
ing gray  eyes,  and  a  reddish-brown  beard  cropped  in  the  foreign 
fashion  ;  the  other,  half  hidden  among  the  voluminous  furs  of  the 
carriage,  was  a  pale,  hump-backed  lad,  with  a  fine,  expressive,  in- 
tellectual face,  and  large,  animated,  almost  woman-like  eyes.  The 
former  was  George  Brand,  of  Brand  Beeches,  Bucks,  a  bachelor 
unattached,  and  a  person  of  no  particular  occupation,  except  that 
he  had  tumbled  about  the  world  a  good  deal,  surveying  mankind 
with  more  or  less  of  interest  or  indifference.  His  companion 
and  friend,  the  bright-eyed,  beautiful-faced,  hump-backed  lad,  was 
Ernest  Francis  D'Agincourt,  thirteenth  Baron  Evelyn. 

The  discussion  was  warm ;  though  the  elder  of  the  two  friends 
spoke  deprccatingly,  at  times  even  scornfully. 

"I  know  what  is  behind  all  that,"  he  said.  "They  are  making 
a  dupe  of  you,  Evelyn.  A  parcel  of  miserable  Leicester  Square 
conspirators,  plundering  the  working-man  of  all  countries  of  his 
small  savings,  and  humbugging  him  with  promises  of  twopenny- 
halfpenny  revolutions !  That  is  not  the  sort  of  thing  for  you  to 
mix  in.     It  is  not  English,  all  that  dagger  and  dark-lantern  busi- 


0  SUNRISE. 

ness,  even  if  it  were  real ;  but  when  it  is  only  theatrical — ^Yllen 
they  are  only  stage  daggers — when  the  wretched  creatures  who 
mouth  about  assassination  and  revolution  are  only  swaggering 
for  half-pence — bah  !     What  part  do  you  propose  to  play  ?" 

"I  tell  vou  it  has  nothin";  to  do  with  dao,'u;ers  and  dark  Ian- 
terns,"  said  the  other,  with  even  greater  warmth.  "  Why  will 
you  run  your  head  against  a  w-indraill  ?  Why  must  you  see  far- 
ther into  a  mile-stone  than  anybody  else?  I  wonder,  with  all  your 
travelling,  you  have  not  got  rid  of  some  of  that  detestable  Eng- 
lish prejudice  and  suspicion.  I  tell  you  that  when  I  am  allowed, 
even  as  an  outsider,  to  see  something  of  this  vast  organization  for 
the  defence  of  the  oppressed,  for  the  protection  of  the  weak,  the 
vindication  of  the  injured,  in  every  country  throughout  the  globe 
— when  I  see  the  splendid  possibilities  before  it — when  I  find 
that  even  a  useless  fellow  like  myself  may  do  some  little  thing  to 
lessen  the  mighty  mass  of  injustice  and  wrong  in  the  world — 
well,  I  am  not  going  to  stop  to  see  that  every  one  of  my  associ- 
ates is  of  pure  English  birth,  with  a  brother-in-law  on  the  Bench, 
and  an  uncle  in  the  House  of  Lords.  I  am  glad  enough  to  have 
something  to  do  that  is  worth  doing;  something  to  believe  in; 
something  to  hope  for.  You — what  do  you  believe  in  ?  What 
is  there  in  heaven  or  earth  that  you  believe  in?" 

"  Suppose  I  say  that  I  believe  in  you,  Evelyn  ?"  said  his  friend, 
quite  good-naturedly;  "and  some  day,  when  j'on  can  convince 
me  that  your  newly  discovered  faith  is  all  right,  you  may  find  me 
becoming  your  meek  disciple,  and  even  your  apostle.  But  I  shall 
want  something  more  than  Union  speeches,  you  know." 

By  this  time  the  carriage  had  passed  along  Coventry  Street, 
turned  into  Prince's  Street,  and  been  pulled  up  opposite  a  com- 
monplace-looking house  in  that  distinctly  dingy  thoroughfare, 
Lisle  Street,  Soho. 

"  Not  quite  Leicester  Square,  but  near  enough  to  serve,"  said 
Brand,  with  a  contemptuous  laugh,  as  he  got  out  of  the  barouche, 
and  then,  with  the  greatest  of  care  and  gentleness,  assisted  his 
companion  to  alight. 

They  crossed  the  pavement  and  rang  a  bell.  Almost  instantly 
the  door  was  opened  by  a  stout,  yellow-haired,  blear-eyed  old  man, 
who  wore  a  huge  overcoat  adorned  with  masses  of  shabby  fur, 
and  who  carried  a  small  lamp  in  his  hand,  for  the  afternoon  had 
grown  to  dusk.    The  two  visitors  were  evidently  expected.     Uav- 


A    FIRST    INTEKVXENV. 


ing  given  the  younger  of  them  a  deeply  respectful  greeting  in 
German,  the  fur-coated  old  gentleman  shut  the  door  after  them, 
and  proceeded  to  show  the  way  up  a  flight  of  narrow  and  not 
particularly  clean  wooden  stairs. 

"Conspiracy  doesn't  seem  to  pay,"  remarked  George  Brand, 
half  to  himself. 

On  the  landing  they  were  confronted  by  a  number  of  doors, 
one  of  which  the  old  German  threw  open.  They  entered  a  large, 
plainly  furnished,  well-lit  room,  looking  pretty  much  like  a  mer- 
chant's office,  though  the  walls  were  mostly  hung  with  maps  and 
plans  of  foreign  cities.  Brand  looked  round  with  a  supercilious 
air.  All  his  pleasant  and  friendly  manner  had  gone.  He  was 
evidently  determined  to  make  himself  as  desperately  disagreea- 
ble as  an  Englishman  can  make  himself  when  introduced  to  a 
foreigner  whom  he  suspects.  But  even  he  would  have  had  to 
confess  that  there  was  no  suggestion  of  trap -doors  or  sliding 
panels  in  this  ordinary,  business-like  room ;  and  not  a  trace  of  a 
dao-o-er  or  a  dark  lantern  anywhere. 

Presently,  from  a  door  opposite,  an  elderly  man  of  middle 
height  and  spare  and  sinewy  frame  walked  briskly  in,  shook 
hands  with  Lord  Evelyn,  was  introduced  to  the  tall,  red-bearded 
Englishman  (who  still  stood,  hat  in  hand,  and  with  a  portentous 
stillness  in  his  demeanor),  begged  his  two  guests  to  be  seated, 
and  himself  sat  down  at  an  open  bureau,  which  was  plentifully 
littered  with  papers. 

"  I  am  pleased  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Brand,"  he  said,  speaking 
carefully,  and  with  a  considerable  foreign  accent.  "  Lord  Eve- 
lyn has  several  times  promised  me  the  honor  of  making  your  ac- 
quaintance." 

Mr.  Brand  merely  bowed :  he  was  intent  on  making  out  what 
manner  of  man  this  suspected  foreigner  might  be ;  and  he  was 
puzzled.  At  first  sight  Ferdinand  Lind  appeared  to  be  about 
fifty  or  fifty-five  years  of  age;  his  closely  cropped  hair  was  gray; 
and  his  face,  in  repose,  somewhat  care-worn.  But  then  when  he 
spoke  there  was  an  almost  youthful  vivacity  in  his  look ;  his 
dark  eyes  were  keen,  quick,  sympathetic ;  and  there  was  even  a 
certain  careless  ease  about  his  dress — about  the  turned-down  col- 
lar and  French-looking  neck-tie,  for  example — that  had  more  of 
the  air  of  the  student  than  of  the  pedant  about  it.  All  this  at 
the  first  glance.     It  was  only  afterward  you  came  to  perceive 


8  SUNRISE. 

what  was  denoted  by  tliose  lieavy,  seamed  brows,  the  firm,  strong 
mouth,  and  the  square  line  of  the  jaw.  These  told  you  of  the 
presence  of  an  indomitable  and  inflexible  will.  Here  was  a  man 
born  to  think,  and  control,  and  command. 

"  With  that  prospect  before  me,"  he  continued,  apparently 
taking  no  notice  of  the  Englishman's  close  scrunity,  "  I  must  ask 
you,  Mr.  Brand — well,  you  know,  it  is  merely  a  matter  of  form — 
but  I  must  ask  you  to  be  so  very  kind  as  to  give  me  your  word 
of  honor  that  you  will  not  disclose  anything  you  may  see  or 
learn  here.     Have  you  any  objection  ?" 

Brand  stared,  then  said,  coldly, 

"  Oh  dear,  no.     I  will  give  you  that  pledge,  if  you  wish  it." 

"  It  is  so  easy  to  deal  with  Englishmen,"  said  Mr.  Lind,  polite- 
ly. "A  word,  and  it  is  done.  But  I  suppose  Lord  Evelyn  has 
told  you  that  we  have  no  very  desperate  secrets.  Secrecy,  you 
know,  one  must  use  sometimes ;  it  is  an  inducement  to  many — 
most  people  are  fond  of  a  little  mystery  ;  and  it  is  harmless." 

Brand  said  nothing;  Lord  Evelyn  thought  he  might  have  been 
at  least  civil.  But  when  an  Englishman  is  determined  on  being 
stiff,  his  stiffness  is  gigantic. 

"  If  I  were  to  show  you  some  of  the  tricks  of  this  very  room," 
said  this  grizzled  old  foreigner  with  the  boyish  neck-tie,  "  you 
might  call  me  a  charlatan  ;  but  would  that  be  fair  ?  We  have 
to  make  use  of  various  means  for  what  we  consider  a  good  end, 
a  noble  end ;  and  there  are  many  people  who  love  mystery  and 
secrecy.  With  you  English  it  is  different — you  must  have  ev- 
erything above-board." 

The  pale,  fine  face  of  the  sensitive  lad  sitting  there  became 
clouded  over  with  disappointment.  He  had  brought  this  old 
friend  of  his  with  some  vague  hope  that  he  might  become  a  con- 
vert, or  at  least  be  sufficiently  interested  to  make  inquiries ;  but 
Brand  sat  silent,  with  a  cold  indifference  that  was  only  the  out- 
ward sign  of  an  inward  suspicion. 

"Sometimes,  it  is  true,"  continued  Mr.  Lind,  in  nowise  discon- 
certed, "  we  stumble  on  the  secrets  of  others.  Our  association 
has  innumerable  feelers;  and  we  make  it  our  business  to  know 
what  we  can  of  everything  that  is  going  on.  For  example,  I 
could  tell  you  of  an  odd  little  incident  that  occurred  last  year  in 
Constantinople.  A  party  of  four  gentlemen  were  playing  cards 
there  in  a  private  room." 


A    FIRST    INTERVIEW.  9 

Brand  started.     The  man  who  was  speaking  took  no  notice. 

"  There  were  two  Austrian  officers,  a  Roumanian  count,  and  an 
Enfflisliman,"  he  continued,  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  wav.  "  It 
was  in  a  private  room,  as  I  said.  The  EnoHshman  was,  after  a 
time,  convinced  that  the  Roumanian  was  cheating ;  he  caught  his 
wrist — showed  the  false  cards ;  then  he  managed  to  ward  off  the 
blow  of  a  dagger  which  the  Roumanian  aimed  at  him,  and  by 
main  force  carried  him  to  the  door  and  threw  him  down-stairs. 
It  was  cleverly  done,  but  the  Englishman  was  very  big  and 
strong.  Afterward  the  two  Austrian  officers,  who  knew  the 
Verdt  family,  begged  the  Englishman  never  to  reveal  what  had 
occurred ;  and  the  three  promised  secrecy.     AVas  not  that  so  ?" 

The  man  looked  up  carelessly.  The  Englishman's  apathy  was 
no  longer  visible. 

"  Y-yes,"  he  stammered. 

"Would  you  like  to  know  what  became  of  Count  Verdt?"  he 
asked,  with  an  air  of  indifference. 

"  Yes,  certainly,"  said  the  other. 

"Ah  !     Of  course  you  know  the  Castel'  del  Ovo  ?" 

"At  Naples?     Yes." 

"You  remember  that  out  at  the  point,  beside  the  way  that 
leads  from  the  shore  to  the  fortress,  there  are  many  big  rocks, 
and  the  waves  roll  about  there.  Three  weeks  after  you  caught 
Count  Verdt  cheating  at  cards,  his  dead  body  was  found  floating 
there." 

"  Gracious  heavens !"  Brand  exclaimed,  with  his  face  grown 
pale.     And  then  he  added,  breathlessly,  "  Suicide  ?" 

Mr.  Lind  smiled. 

"  No.  Reassure  yourself.  "When  they  picked  out  the  body 
from  the  water,  they  found  the  mouth  gagged,  and  the  hands  tied 
behind  the  back." 

Brand  stared  at  this  man* 

"Then  you — ?"     He  dared  not  complete  the  question. 

"  I  ?  Oh,  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  any  more  than  yourself. 
It  was  a  Camorra  affair." 

He  had  been  speaking  quite  indifferently ;  but  now  a  singular 
change  came  over  his  manner. 

"  And  if  I  had  had  something  to  do  with  it  ?"  he  said,  vehe- 
mently ;  and  the  dark  eyes  were  burning  with  a  quick  anger  un- 
der the  heavy  brows.     Then  he  spoke  more  slowly,  but  with  a 

1* 


10  SUNRISE. 

firm  emphasis  in  his  speech.  "  I  will  tell  you  a  little  story ;  it 
will  not  detain  you,  sir.  Suppose  that  you  have  a  prison  so  over- 
stocked with  political  prisoners  that  you  must  keep  sixty  or  sev- 
enty in  the  open  yard  adjoining  the  outer  wall.  You  have  little 
to  fear;  they  are  harmless,  poor  wretches;  there  are  several  old 
men — two  women.  Ah  I  but  what  are  the  poor  devils  to  do  in 
those  long  nights  that  are  so  dark  and  so  cold  ?  However  they 
may  huddle  together,  they  freeze ;  if  they  keep  not  moving,  thoy 
die ;  you  find  them  dead  in  the  morning.  If  you  are  a  Czar  yoa 
are  glad  of  that,  for  your  prisons  are  choked ;  it  is  very  conven- 
ient. And  then  suppose  you  have  a  clever  fellow  who  finds  out 
a  narrow  passage  between  the  implement-house  and  the  wall ;  and 
he  says, '  Tliere,  you  can  work  all  night  at  digging  a  passage  out ; 
and  who  in  the  morning  will  suspect?'  Is  not  that  a  fine  discov- 
ery, when  one  must  keep  moving  in  the  dark  to  prevent  one's 
self  stifiiening  into  a  corpse  ?  Oh  yes ;  then  you  find  the  poor 
devils,  in  their  madness,  begin  to  tear  the  ground  up  ;  what  tools 
have  they  but  their  fingers,  when  the  implcment-hcnise  is  locked  ? 
The  poor  devils  ! — old  men,  too,  and  women  ;  and  how  they  take 
their  turn  at  the  slow  work,  hour  after  hour,  week  after  week,  all 
through  the  long,  still  nights!  Inch  by  inch  it  is;  and  the  poor 
devils  become  like  rabbits,  burrowing  for  a  hole  to  reach  the 
outer  air;  and  do  you  know  that,  after  a  time,  the  first  wounds 
heal,  and  your  fingers  become  like  stumps  of  iron — " 

He  held  out  his  two  hands ;  the  ends  of  the  fino'ers  were  seam- 
ed  and  corrugated,  as  if  they  had  been  violently  scalded.  But 
he  could  not  hold  them  steady — they  were  trembling  with  the 
suppressed  passion  that  made  his  whole  frame  tremble. 

"Relay  after  relay,  night  after  night,  week  after  week,  month 
after  month,  until  those  poor  devils  of  rabbits  had  actually  bur- 
rowed a  passage  out  into  the  freedom  of  God's  world  again.  And 
some  said  the  Czar  himself  had  heard  of  it,  and  would  not  inter- 
fere, for  the  prisons  were  choked ;  and  some  said  the  wife  of  the 
governor  was  Polish,  and  had  a  kind  heart ;  but  what  did  it  mat- 
ter when  the  time  was  drawing  near?  And  always  this  clever 
fellow — do  you  know,  sir,  his  name  was  Verdt  too  ? — encourag- 
ing, helping,  goading  these  poor  people  on.  Then  the  last  night 
— how  the  miserable  rabbits  of  creatures  kept  huddled  together, 
shivering  in  the  dark,  till  the  hour  arrived  !  and  then  the  death- 
like stillness  they  found  outside;  and  the  wild  wonder  and  fear 


A    FIRST    INTERVIEW.  11 

of  it ;  and  the  old  men  and  the  women  crying  like  children  to 
find  themselves  in  the  free  air  again.  Marie  Falevitch — that  was 
my  sister-in-law — she  kissed  me,  and  was  laughing  when  she 
whispered,  ^Eljen  a  hazaP  I  think  she  was  a  little  off  her  head 
with  the  long,  sleepless  nights." 

He  stopped  for  a  second ;  his  throat  seemed  choked. 

"Did  I  tell  you  they  had  all  got  out? — the  poor  devils  all 
wondering  there,  and  scarcely  knowing  where  to  go.  And  now 
suppose,  sir — ah  !  you  don't  know  anything  about  these  things, 
you  happy  English  people — suppose  you  found  the  black  night 
around  you  all  at  once  turned  to  a  blaze  of  fire — a  red  hell  open- 
ed on  all  sides  of  you,  and  the  bullets  ploughing  your  comrades 
down  ;  the  old  men  crying  for  mercy,  tlie  young  ones  falling  only 
with  a  groan  ;  the  women — my  God  !  Did  you  ever  hear  a  wom- 
an shriek  when  she  was  struck  through  the  heart  with  a  bullet? 
Marie  Falevitch  fell  at  my  feet,  but  I  could  not  raise  her — I  was 
struck  down  too.  It  was  a  week  after  that  I  came  to  my  senses. 
I  was  in  the  prison,  but  the  prison  was  not  quite  so  full.  Czars 
and  governors  have  a  fine  way  of  thinning  prisons  when  they  get 
too  crowded." 

These  last  words  were  spoken  in  a  calm,  contemptuous  way ; 
the  man  was  evidently  trying  hard  to  control  the  fierce  passion 
that  these  memories  had  stirred  up.  He  had  clinched  one  hand, 
and  put  it  firmly  on  the  desk  before  him,  so  that  it  should  not 
tremble. 

"  Well,  now,  Mr.  Brand,"  he  continued,  slowly,  "let  us  suppose 
that  when  you  come  to  yourself  again,  you  hear  the  rumors  that 
are  about :  you  hear,  for  example,  that  Count  Yerdt — that  exceed- 
inii'lv  clever  man — has  been  o-raciouslv  pardoned  bv  the  Czar  for 
revealing  the  villanous  conspiracy  of  his  fellow-prisoners ;  and 
that  he  has  ffone  off  to  the  South  with  a  bag  of  money.  Do  vou 
not  think  that  you  would  remember  the  name  of  that  clever  per- 
son? Do  you  not  think  you  would  say  to  yourself,  'Well,  it  may 
not  be  to-day,  or  to-morrow,  or  the  next  day  :  hut  some  dayV  " 

Again  the  dark  eyes  glowed  ;  but  he  had  a  wonderful  self- 
control. 

"  You  would  remember  the  name,  would  you  not,  if  you  had 
your  sister-in-law,  and  your  only  brother,  and  six  or  seven  of  your 
old  friends  and  comrades  all  shot  on  the  one  night?" 

'*  This  was  the  same  Count  Yerdt  T'  Brand  asked,  eagerh; 


12  SUNRISE. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  after  a  considerable  pause.  Then  lie 
added,  with  an  involuntary  sigh,  "I  had  been  following  his  move- 
ments for  some  time;  but  the  Camorra  stepped  in.  They  are 
foolish  people,  those  Camorristi  —  foolish  and  ignorant.  They 
punish  for  very  trifling  offences,  and  they  do  not  make  sufficient 
\Yarning  of  their  punishments.  '  Then  they  are  quite  imbecile  iu 
the  way  they  attempt  to  regulate  labor." 

He  was  now  talking  in  quite  a  matter-of-fact  way.  The 
clinched  hand  was  relaxed. 

"  Besides,"  continued  Ferdinand  Lind,  with  the  cool  air  of  a 
critic,  "  their  conduct  is  too  scandalous.  The  outer  world  be- 
lieves they  are  nothing  but  an  association  of  thieves  and  cut- 
throats ;  that  is  because  they  do  not  discountenance  vulgar  and 
useless  crime ;  because  there  is  not  enough  authority,  nor  any 
proper  selection  of  members.  In  the  affairs  of  the  world,  one 
has  sometimes  to  make  use  of  queer  agents — that  is  admitted; 
and  you  cannot  have  any  large  body  of  people  without  finding  a 
few  scoundrels  among  them.  I  suppose  one  might  even  say  that 
about  your  very  respectable  Church  of  England.  But  you  only 
bring  a  society  into  disrepute — you  rob  it  of  much  usefulness — 
you  put  the  lavp  and  society  against  it — when  you  make  it  the 
refufje  of  common  murderers  and  thieves." 

"  I  should  hope  so,"  remarked  George  Brand.  If  this  sus- 
pected foreigner  had  resumed  his  ordinary  manner,  so  had  he: 
he  was  again  the  haughty,  suspicious,  almost  supercilious  Eng- 
lishman. 

Poor  Lord  Evelyn  !  The  lad  looked  quite  distressed.  These 
two  men  were  so  obviously  antipathetic  that  it  seemed  altogether 
hopeless  to  think  of  their  ever  coming  together. 

*'  Well,"  said  Mr.  Lind,  in  his  ordinary  polished  and  easy  man- 
ner, "  I  must  not  seek  to  detain  you ;  for  it  is  a  cold  night  to 
keep  horses  waiting.  But,  Mr.  Brand,  Lord  Evelyn  dines  with  us 
to-morrow  evening:  if  you  have  nothing  better  to  do,  will  you 
join  our  little  party?  My  daughter,  I  am  sure,  will  be  most 
pleased  to  make  your  acquaintance." 

"  Do,  Brand,  there's  a  good  fellow  !"  struck  in  his  friend.  "  I 
haven't  seen  anything  of  you  for  such  a  long  time." 

"  I  shall  be  very  happy  indeed,"  said  the  tall  Englishman,  won- 
dering whether  he  was  likely  to  meet  a  goodly  assemblage  of  se- 
dition-mongers at  this  foreign  person's  table. 


PLEADINGS.  13 

"  We  dine  at  a  quarter  to  eight.  The  address  is  No.  —  Cur- 
zon  Street ;  but  perhaps  you  had  better  take  this  card." 

So  they  left,  aud  were  conducted  down  the  staircase  by  the 
stout  old  German ;  and  scrambled  up  into  the  furs  of  the  ba- 
rouche. 

"  So  he  has  a  daughter  ?"  said  Brand,  as  the  two  friends  to- 
gether drove  down  to  Buckingham  Street,  where  they  were  to 
dine  at  his  rooms. 

"  Oh  yes ;  his  daughter  Natalie,"  said  Lord  Evelyn,  eagerly. 
"  I  am  so  glad  you  will  see  her  to-morrow  night!" 

"  And  they  live  in  Curzon  Street,"  said  the  other,  reflectively. 
"  H'm  !     Conspiracy  does  pay,  then  ?" 


CHAPTER  II. 

PLEADINGS. 

"Brother  Senior  Warden,  your  place  in  the  lodge?"  said 
Mr.  Brand,  looking  at  the  small  dinner-table. 

"  You  forget,"  his  companion  said.  "  I  am  only  in  the  nurs- 
ery as  yet — an  Illuminatus  Minor,  as  it  Avere.  However,  I  don't 
think  I  can  do  better  than  sit  where  Waters  has  put  me;  I  can 
have  a  glimpse  of  the  lights  on  the  river.  But  what  an  extraor- 
dinary place  for  you  to  come  to  for  rooms !" 

They  had  driven  down  through  the  glare  of  the  great  city  to 
this  silent  and  dark  little  thoroughfare,  dismissed  the  carriage  at 
the  foot,  climbed  up  an  old -fashioned  oak  staircase,  and  found 
themselves  at  last  received  by  an  elderly  person,  who  looked  a 
good  deal  more  like  a  bronzed  old  veteran  than  an  ordinary  Eng- 
lish butler. 

"  Ilalloo,  Waters !"  said  Lord  Evelyn.  "  How  are  you  ?  I 
don't  think  I  have  seen  you  since  you  threatened  to  murder  the 
landlord  at  Cairo." 

"No,  my  lord,"  said  Mr. Waters,  who  seemed  vastly  pleased  by 
this  reminiscence,  and  who  instantly  disappeared  to  summon  din- 
ner for  the  two  young  men. 

"  Extraordinary  ?"  said  Brand,  when  they  had  got  seated  at 
table.  "  Oh  no  ;  my  constant  craving  is  for  air,  space,  light,  and 
quiet.     Here  I  have  all  these.     Beneath  are  the  Embankment 


14  SUNRISE. 

gardens;  beyond  that,  you  see,  the  river  —  those  lights  are  the 
steamers  at  anchor.  As  for  quiet,  the  lower  floors  are  occupied 
by  a  charitable  society ;  so  I  fancied  there  would  not  be  much 
traffic  on  the  stairs." 

The  jibe  passed  unheeded;  Lord  Evelyn  had  long  ago  become 
familiar  with  his  friend's  way  of  speaking  about  men  and  things. 

"  And  so,  Evelyn,  you  have  become  a  pupil  of  the  revolutiona- 
ries," George  Brand  continued,  when  Waters  had  put  some  things 
before  them  and  retired — "  a  student  of  the  fine  art  of  stabbing 
people  unawares  ?  What  an  astute  fellow  that  Lind  must  be — I 
will  swear  it  never  occurred  to  one  of  the  lot  before — to  get  an 
English  milord  into  their  ranks  !  A  stroke  of  genius  !  It  could 
only  have  been  projected  by  a  great  mind.  And  then  look  at 
the  effect  throughout  Europe  if  an  English  milord  were  to  be 
found  with  a  parcel  of  Orsini  bombs  in  his  possession !  every 
ragamuffin  from  Naples  to  St.  Petersburg  would  rejoice;  the 
army  of  cutthroats  would  march  with  a  new  swagger." 

His  companion  said  nothing ;  but  there  was  a  vexed  and  im- 
patient look  on  his  face. 

"And  our  little  daughter — is  she  pretty?  Does  she  coax  the 
young  men  to  play  with  daggers  ? — the  innocent  little  thing ! 
And  when  you  start  with  your  dynamite  to  break  open  a  jail,  she 
blows  you  a  kiss  ? — the  charming  little  fairy  !  What  is  it  she 
has  embroidered  on  the  ribbon  round  her  neck?  —  ^Mort  aux 
rois ?''  ^Sic  semper  tyrannis P  No;  I  saw  a  much  prettier  one 
somewhere  the  other  day  :  .'A^e  si  pasce  di  fresche  ruc/giade,  ma 
di  sangue  di  membra  di  re.''  Isn't  it  charming?  It  sounds  quite 
idyllic,  even  in  English  :  ''Not  for  you  the  nourishment  of  freshen- 
ing dews,  but  the  blood  of  the  limbs  of  kings  P  The  pretty  little 
stabber — is  she  fierce  ?" 

"  Brand,  you  are  too  bad !"  said  the  other,  throwing  down  his 
knife  and  fork,  and  getting  up  from  the  table.  "  You  believe  in 
neither  man,  woman,  God,  nor  devil  I" 

"AVould  you  mind  handing  over  that  claret  jug?" 

"Why,"  he  said,  turning  passionately  toward  him,  "it  is  men 
like  you,  who  have  neither  faith,  nor  hope,  nor  regret,  who  are 
wandering  aimlessly  in  a  nightmare  of  apathy  and  indolence  and 
indifference,  who  ought  to  be  the  first  to  welcome  the  new  light 
breaking  in  the  sky.  What  is  life  worth  to  you?  You  have 
nothing  to  hope  for — nothing  to  look  forward  to — nothing  you 


PLEADINGS.  15 

can  kill  the  aimless  days  with.  Why  should  you  desire  to-mor- 
row? To-morrow  will  brini^;  you  nothing  different  from  yester- 
day; you  will  do  as  you  did  yesterday  and  the  day  before  yester- 
day. It  is  the  life  of  a  hoi-se  or  an  ox — nut  the  life  of  a  human 
being,  with  the  sympathies  and  needs  and  aspirations  of  a  man. 
What  is  the  object  of  your  living  at  all  ?" 

"  I  really  don't  know,"  said  the  other,  simply. 

But  this  pale  hump-backed  lad,  with  the  tine  nostrils,  the  sen- 
sitive mouth,  the  large  forehead,  and  the  beautiful  eyes,  was  ter- 
ribly in  earnest.  He  forgot  about  his  place  at  table,  lie  kept 
walking  up  and  down,  occasionally  addressing  his  friend  direct- 
ly, at  other  times  glancing  out  at  the  dark  river  and  the  golden 
lines  of  lamps.  And  he  was  an  eloquent  speaker,  too.  Debar- 
red from  most  forms  of  physical  exercise,  he  had  been  brought 
up  in  a  world  of  ideas.  When  he  went  to  Oxford,  it  was  with 
some  vague  notion  of  subsequently  entering  the  Church ;  but  at 
Oxford  lie  became  speedily  convinced  that  there  was  no  Church 
left  for  him  to  enter.  Then  he  fell  back  on  lestheticism — wor- 
shipped Carpaccio,  adored  Chopin,  and  turned  his  rooms  at  Mer- 
ton  into  a  museum  of  old  tapestry,  Roman  brass-work,  and  Vene- 
tian glass.  Then  he  dabbled  a  little  in  Comtism  ;  but  very  soon 
he  threw  aside  that  gigantic  make-believe  at  believing.  Never- 
theless, whatever  was  his  whim  of  the  moment,  it  was  for  him  no 
whim  at  all,  but  a  burning  reality.  And  in  this  enthusiasm  of 
his  there  was  no  room  left  for  shyness.  In  fact,  these  two  com- 
panions had  been  accustomed  to  talk  frankly ;  they  had  long  ago 
abandoned  that  self-consciousness  which  ordinarily  restricts  the 
conversation  of  vouno;  Eno-Hshmcn  to  monosyllables.  Brand  was 
a  good  listener  and  his  friend  an  eager,  impetuous,  enthusiastic 
speaker.  The  one  could  even  recite  verses  to  the  other :  what 
greater  proof  of  confidence  ? 

And  on  this  occasion  all  this  prayer  of  his  was  earnest  and 
pathetic  enough.  He  begged  this  old  chum  of  his  to  throw 
aside  his  insular  prejudices  and  judge  for  himself.  What  object 
had  he  in  living  at  all,  if  life  were  merely  a  routine  of  food  and 
sleep  ?  In  this  selfish  isolation,  his  living  was  only  a  process  of 
going  to  the  grave — only  that  each  day  would  become  more  te- 
dious and  burdensome  as  he  grew  older.  Why  should  he  not 
examine,  and  inquire,  and  believe — if  that  were  possible?  The 
world  was  perishing  for  want  of  a  new  faith :  the  new  faith  was  here. 


16  SUNRISE. 

At  this  phrase  George  Brand  quickly  raised  his  head.  He 
was  accustomed  to  these  enthusiasms  of  his  friend ;  but  he  had 
not  yet  seen  him  in  the  character  of  an  apostle. 

"  You  know  it  as  well  as  I,  Brand  ;  the  last  great  wave  of  re- 
ligion has  spent  itself ;  and  I  suppose  Matthew  Arnold  would 
have  us  wait  for  the  mysterious  East,  the  mother  of  religions, 
to  send  us  another.     Do  you  remember  '  Obermann  V — 

" '  In  his  cool  hall,  with  haggard  eyes, 
The  Roman  noble  lay ; 
He  drove  abroad,  in  furious  guise, 
Along  the  Appian  Way ; 

"  '  He  made  a  feast,  drank  fierce  and  fast. 
And  crowned  his  head  with  flowers — 
No  easier  nor  no  quiciier  passed 
The  impracticable  hours. 

"  '  The  brooding  East  with  awe  beheld 
Her  impious  younger  world. 
The  Roman  tempest  swelled  and  swelled. 
And  on  her  head  was  hurled. 

"  '  The  East  bowed  low  before  the  blast. 
In  patient,  deep  disdain; 
She  let  the  legions  thunder  past, 
And  plunged  in  thought  again.'  " 

The  lad  had  a  sympathetic  voice ;  and  there  was  a  curious, 
pathetic  thrill  in  the  tones  of  it  as  he  went  on  to  describe  the  re- 
sult of  that  awful  musing — the  new-born  joy  awakening  in  the 
East — the  victorious  West  veiling  her  eagles  and  snapping  her 
sword  before  this  strange  new  worship  of  the  Child — 

"And  centuries  came,  and  ran  their  course, 
And,  unspent  all  that  time. 
Still,  still  went  forth  that  Child's  dear  force, 
And  still  was  at  its  prime." 

But  now — in  these  later  days  around  us  ? — 

"  Now  He  is  dead  !     Far  hence  He  Ilea 
In  the  lorn  Syrian  town ; 
And  on  His  grave,  with  shining  eyes, 
The  Syrian  stars  look  down." 

The  great  divine  wave  had  spent  itself.  But  were  we  to  sit  su- 
pinely by — this  was  what  he  asked,  though  not  precisely  in  these 
consecutive  words,  for  sometimes  he  walked  to  and  fro  in  his  ea- 


PLEADINGS.  1 7 

gerness,  and  sometimes  he  ate  a  bit  of  bread,  or  sat  down  oppo- 
site his  friend  for  the  purpose  of  better  confronting  liim — to  wait 
for  that  distant  and  mysterious  East  to  send  us  another  revela- 
tion ?  Not  so.  Let  the  proud-spirited  and  courageous  West,  that 
had  learned  the  teachings  of  Christianity  but  never  yet  appUed 
them  —  let  the  powerful  West  establish  a  faith  of  her  own:  a 
faitli  in  the  future  of  humanity  itself — a  faith  in  a  future  of  rec- 
ompense and  atonement  to  the  vast  multitudes  of  mankind  who 
had  toiled  so  long  and  so  grievously — a  faith  demanding  instant 
action  and  endeavor  and  self-sacrifice  from  those  who  would  be 
its  first  apostles. 

"  The  complaining  millions  of  men 
Darken  in  labor  and  pain." 

And  why  should  not  this  Christianity,  that  had  so  long  been  used 
to  gild  the  thrones  of  kings  and  glorify  the  ceremonies  of  priests 
— that  had  so  long  been  monopolized  by  the  rich  and  the  great 
and  the  strong,  whom  its  Founder  despised  and  denounced — why 
should  it  not  at  length  come  to  the  help  of  those  myriads  of  the 
poor  and  the  weak  and  the  suffering,  whose  cry  for  help  had  been 
for  so  many  centuries  disregarded  ?  Here  was  work  for  the  idle, 
hope  for  the  hopeless,  a  faith  for  them  who  were  perishing  for 
want  of  a  faith. 

"  You  say  all  this  is  vague — a  vision — a  sentiment  ?"  he  said, 
talking  in  the  same  eager  way.  "  Then  that  is  my  fault.  I  can- 
not explain  it  all  to  you  in  a  few  words.  But  do  not  run  away 
with  the  notion  that  it  is  mere  words — a  St.  Simonian  dream  of 
perfectibility,  or  anything  like  that.  It  is  practical ;  it  exists ;  it 
is  within  reach  of  you.  It  is  a  definite  and  immense  organiza- 
tion ;  it  may  be  young  as  yet,  but  it  has  courage  and  splendid 
aims;  and  now,  with  a  great  work  before  it,  it  is  eager  for  aid. 
You  yourself,  when  you  see  a  child  run  over,  or  a  woman  starv- 
ing of  hunger,  or  a  blind  man  wanting  to  cross  a  street,  are  you 
not  ready  with  your  help  —  the  help  of  your  hands  or  of  your 
purse?  Multiply  these  by  millions,  and  think  of  the  cry  for  help 
that  comes  from  all  parts  of  the  world.  If  you  but  knew,  you 
could  not  resist.  I  as  yet  know  little — I  only  hear  the  echo  of 
the  cry ;  but  my  veins  are  burning  ;  I  shall  have  the  gladness  of 
answering  'Yes,'  however  little  I  can  do.  And  after  all,  is  not 
that  something  ?     For  a  man  to  live  only  for  himself  is  death." 


18  SUNRISE. 

"  But  you  know,  Evelyn,"  said  his  friend,  though  he  did  not 
quite  know  what  to  answer  to  all  this  outburst,  "you  must  be 
more  cautious.  Those  benevolent  schemes  ai"e  veiy  noble  and 
very  captivating ;  but  sometimes  they  are  in  the  hands  of  rather 
queer  people.  And  besides,  do  you  quite  know  the  limits  of  this 
big  society  ?  I  thought  you  said  something  about  vindicating  the 
oppressed.     Does  it  include  politics?" 

"  I  do  not  question  ;  I  am  content  to  obey,"  said  Lord  Evelyn. 

"  That  is  not  English  ;  unreasoning  and  blind  obedience  is  mere 
follv." 

"Perhaps  so,"  said  the  other,  somewhat  absently ;  "but  I  sup- 
pose a  man  accepts  whatever  satisfies  the  craving  of  his  own  heart. 
And — and  I  should  not  like  to  go  alone  on  this  new  thing,  Brand. 
Will  you  not  come  some  little  way  with  me  ?  If  you  think  I  am 
mistaken,  you  may  turn  back  ;  as  for  me — well,  if  it  were  only  a 
dream,  I  think  I  would  rather  go  with  the  pilgrims  on  their  hope- 
less quest  than  stay  with  the  people  who  come  out  to  wonder  at 
them  as  they  go  by.     You  remember — 

" '  AVho  is  your  lady  of  love,  oh  ye  that  pass 

Singing  ?     And  is  it  for  soi-row  of  that  which  wa3 
That  ye  sing  sadly,  or  dream  of  what  shall  be? 
For  gladly  at  once  and  sadly  it  seems  ye  sing. 
— Our  lady  of  love  by  you  is  unbeholden  ; 
For  hands  she  hath  none,  nor  eyes,  nor  lips,  nor  golden 
Treasure  of  hair,  nor  face  nor  form  ;  but  we 
That  love,  we  know  her  more  fair  than  anything.'  " 

Yes  ;  he  had  certainly  a  pathetic  thrill  in  his  voice ;  but  now 
there  was  somethino;  else — somethino-  strano-e — in  the  slow  and 
monotonous  cadence  that  caught  the  acute  ear  of  his  friend.  And 
again  he  went  on,  but  absently,  almost  as  if  he  were  himself  list- 


cnmg — 


"  — Is  she  a  queen,  having  great  gifts  to  give  ? 
— Yea,  these ;  that  whoso  hath  seen  her  shall  not  live 
Except  he  serve  her  sorrowing,  with  strange  pain, 
Travail  and  bloodshedding  and  bitterer  tears ; 
And  when  she  bids  die  he  shall  surely  die. 
And  he  shall  leave  all  things  under  the  sky. 
And  go  forth  naked  under  sun  and  rain. 
And  work  and  wait  and  watch  out  all  his  years." 

"  Evelyn,"  said  George  Brand,  suddenly,  fixing  his  keen  eyes 


IN     A    HOLSK    IN    CURZON    STREET.  19 

Oil  bis  friend's  face,  "where  have  you  heard  that?  Who  has 
taii,u:ht  you?     You  arc  not  spcakino-  witli  your  own  voice." 

"  With  wliose,  then  ?"  and  a  smile  came  over  the  paie,  calm, 
beautiful  face,  as  if  lie  had  awakened  out  of  a  dream. 

"That,"  said  Brand,  still  regarding  him,  "was  the  voice  of 
Natalie  Lind." 


CHAPTER  III. 

IN    A    HOUSE    IN    CURZON    STREET. 


Armed  with  a  defiant  scepticism,  and  yet  conscious  of  an  un- 
usual interest  and  expectation,  George  Brand  drove  up  to  Curzon 
Street  on  the  following  evening.  As  he  jumped  out  of  bis  han- 
som, he  inadvertently  glanced  at  the  house. 

"Conspiracy  has  not  quite  built  us  a  palace  as  yet,"  he  said  to 
himself. 

The  door  w-as  opened  by  a  little  German  maid-servant,  as  neat 
and  round  and  rosy  as  a  Dresden  china  shepherdess,  who  con- 
ducted him  up-stairs  and  announced  him  at  the  drawing-room. 
It  was  not  a  large  room ;  but  there  was  more  of  color  and  gild- 
injr  in  it  than  accords  with  the  severitv  of  modern  English  taste; 
and  it  w-as  lit  irregularly  with  a  number  of  candles,  each  with  a 
little  o-reen  or  rose-red  shade.  Mr.  Lind  met  him  at  the  door. 
As  they  shook  hands,  Brand  caught  a  glimpse  of  another  figure 
in  the  room  —  apparently  that  of  a  tall  woman  dressed  all  in 
cream-white,  with  a  bunch  of  scarlet  geraniums  in  her  bosom, 
and  another  in  her  raven-black  hair. 

"  Not  the  gay  little  adventuress,  then  ?"  was  his  instant  and  in- 
ternal comment.  "  Better  contrived  still.  The  inspired  prophet- 
ess.    Obviously  not  the  daughter  of  this  man  at  all.     Hired." 

But  when  Natalie  Lind  came  forward  to  receive  him,  he  was 
more  than  surprised;  be  was  almost  abashed.  During  a  second 
or  two  of  wonder  and  involuntarv  admiration,  he  Avas  startled  out 
of  his  critical  attitude  altogether.  For  this  tall  and  striking  fig- 
ure was  in  reality  that  of  a  young  girl  of  eighteen  or  nineteen, 
who  had  the  beautifully  formed  bust,  the  slender  wjiiht,  and  the 
noble  carriage  that  even  young  Hungarian  girls  frequently  have. 
Perhaps  the  face,  with  its  intellectual  forehead  and  the  proud  and 
firmly  cut  mouth,  was  a  trifle  too  calm  and  self-reliant  for  a  young 


20  SUNRISE. 

girl ;  but  all  tlie  softness  of  expression  that  was  wanted,  all  the 
gentle  and  gracious  timidity  that  we  associate  with  maidenhood, 
lay  in  the  large,  and  dark,  and  lustrous  eyes.  When,  by  acci- 
dent, she  turned  aside,  and  he  saw  the  outline  of  that  clear,  olive- 
complexioned  face,  only  broken  by  the  outward  curve  of  the  long 
black  lashes,  he  had  to  confess  to  himself  that,  adventuress  or  no 
adventuress,  prophetess  or  no  prophetess,  Natalie  Lind  was  pos- 
sessed of  about  the  most  beautiful  profile  he  had  ever  beheld, 
while  she  had  the  air  and  tue  bearing  of  a  queen. 

Her  father  and  he  talked  of  the  various  trifling  things  of  the 
moment;  but  what  he  was  chiefly  thinking  of  was  the  singular 
calm  and  self-possession  of  this  young  girl.  When  she  spoke, 
her  dark,  soft  eyes  regarded  him  without  fear.  Her  manner  was 
simple  and  natural  to  the  last  degree ;  perhaps  with  the  least 
touch  added  of  maidenly  reserve.  He  was  forced  even  to  admire 
the  simplicity  of  her  dress — cream  or  canary  white  it  was,  with  a 
bit  of  white  fur  round  the  neck  and  round  the  tight  wrists.  The 
only  strong  color  was  that  of  the  scarlet  geraniums  which  she 
wore  in  her  bosom,  and  in  the  splendid  masses  of  her  hair ;  and 
the  vertical  sharp  line  of  scarlet  of  her  closed  fan. 

Once  onlv,  during  this  interval  of  waiting,  did  he  find  that 
calm  serenity  of  hers  disturbed.  He  happened  to  observe  the 
photograph  of  a  very  handsome  woman  near  him  on  the  table. 
She  told  him  she  had  had  a  parcel  of  photographs  of  friends  of 
hers  just  sent  over  from  Vienna ;  some  of  them  very  pretty.  She 
went  to  another  table,  and  brought  over  a  handful.  He  glanced 
at  them  only  for  a  second  or  two. 

"  I  see  they  are  mostly  from  Vienna ;  are  they  Austrian  la- 
dies ?"  he  asked. 

"They  live  m  Austria,  but  they  are  not  Austrians,"  she  an- 
swered. And  then  she  added,  with  a  touch  of  scorn  about  the 
beautiful  mouth,  "  Our  friends  and  we  don't  belong  to  the  wom- 
en-floggers !" 

"  Natalie  !"  her  father  said  ;  but  he  smiled  all  the  same. 

"  I  will  tell  you  one  of  my  earliest  recollections,"  she  said :  "  I 
remember  it  very  well.  Kossuth  was  carrying  me  round  the 
room  on  his  shoulder.  I  suppose  I  had  been  listening  to  the 
talk  of  the  gentlemen ;  for  1  said  to  him, '  When  they  burned  my 
papa  in  effigy  at  Pesth,  why  was  I  not  allowed  to  go  and  see?' 
And  be  said — I  remember  the  sound  of  his  voice  even  now — 


IN    A    HOUSE    IN    CURZON    STREET.  21 

*  Little  cliild,  you  were  not  born  tlien.  But  if  you  had  been  able 
to  go,  do  you  know  -what  they  would  have  done  to  you  ?  They 
would  have  flogged  you.  L)o  you  not  know  that  the  Austrians 
flog  women?  When  you  grow  up,  little  child,  your  papa  will 
tell  you  the  story  of  Madame  von  Maderspach.' "  Then  she  add- 
ed, "  That  is  one  of  my  valued  recollections,  that  when  I  was  a 
child  I  was  carried  on  Kossuth's  shoulders." 

"You  have  no  similar  reminiscence  of  Gorgey,  I  suppose?" 
Brand  said,  with  a  smile. 

He  had  spoken  quite  inadvertently,  without  the  slightest 
thought  in  the  world  of  wounding  her  feelings.  But  he  was 
surprised  and  shocked  by  the  extraordinary  effect  which  this 
chance  remark  produced  on  the  tall  and  beautiful  girl  standing 
there ;  for  an  instant  she  paused,  as  if  not  knowing  what  to  say. 
Then  she  said  proudly,  and  she  turned  away  as  she  did  so, 

"Perhaps  you  arc  not  aware  that  there  are  some  names  you 
should  not  mention  in  the  presence  of  a  Ilungarian  woman." 

What  was  there  in  the  tone  of  the  voice  that  made  him  rapidly 
glance  at  her  eyes,  as  she  turned  away,  pretending  to  carry  back 
the  photographs  ?  He  was  not  deceived.  Those  large  dark  eyes 
were  full  of  sudden,  indignant  tears ;  she  had  not  turned  quite 
quickly  enough  to  conceal  them. 

Of  course,  he  instantly  and  amply  apologized  for  his  ignorance 
and  stupidity ;  but  what  he  said  to  himself  was,  "  That  child  is 
not  acting.  She  may  be  Lind's  daughter,  after  all.  Poor  thing ! 
she  is  too  beautiful,  and  generous,  and  noble  to  be  made  the  de- 
coy of  a  revolutionary  adventurer." 

At  this  moment  Lord  Evelyn  arrived,  throwing  a  quick  glance 
of  inquiry  toward  his  friend,  to  see  what  impression,  so  far,  had 
been  produced.  But  the  tall,  red-bearded  Englishman  maintain- 
ed, as  the  diplomatists  say,  an  attitude  of  the  strictest  reserve. 
The  keen  gray  eyes  were  respectful,  attentive,  courteous — espe- 
cially when  they  were  turned  to  Miss  Lind  ;  beyond  that,  nothing. 

Now  they  had  not  been  seated  at  the  dinner-table  more  than  a 
few  minutes  before  George  Brand  began  to  ask  himself  whether 
it  was  really  Curzon  Street  he  was  dining  in.  The  oddly  furnish- 
ed room  was  adorned  with  curiosities  to  which  every  capital  in 
Europe  would  seem  to  have  contributed.  The  servants,  exclu- 
sively women,  were  foreign  ;  the  table  glass  and  decorations  were 
all  foreign ;  the  unostentatious  little  banquet  was  distinctly  for- 


22  SUNRISE. 

eign.  Why,  the  very  bell  that  had  summoned  them  down — what 
■was  there  in  the  soft  sound  of  it  that  had  reminded  him  of  some- 
thing far  away  ?  It  was  a  haunting  sound,  and  he  kept  puzzling 
over  the  vague  associations  it  seemed  to  call  up.  At  last  be 
frankly  mentioned  the  matter  to  Miss  Lind,  who  seemed  greatly 
pleased. 

"Ah,  did  you  like  the  sound?"  she  said,  in  that  low  and  har- 
monious voice  of  hers.  "  The  bell  was  an  invention  of  my  own  ; 
shall  I  show  it  to  you  ?" 

The  Dresden  shepherdess,  by  name  Anneli,  being  despatched 
into  the  hall,  presently  returned  with  an  object  somewhat  resem- 
bling in  shape  a  Cheshire  cheese,  but  round  at  the  top,  formed 
of  roughly  filed  metal  of  a  lustrous  yellow-gray.  Round  the  rude 
square  handle  surmounting  it  was  carelessly  twisted  a  bit  of  old 
orange  silk;  other  decoration  there  was  none. 

"Do  you  see  what  it  is  now?"  she  said.  "Only  one  of  the 
great  bells  the  people  use  for  the  cattle  on  the  Campagna,  Where 
did  I  get  it?  Oh,  you  know  the  Piazza  Montenara,  in  Rome,  of 
course?  There  is  a  place  there  where  they  sell  such  things  to 
the  country  people.  You  could  get  one  without  difficulty,  if  you 
are  not  afraid  of  being  laughed  at  as  a  mad  Englishman.  That 
bit  of  embroidered  ribbon,  though,  I  got  in  an  old  shop  in 
Florence." 

Indeed,  what  struck  him  further  was,  not  only  the  foreign  look 
of  the  little  room  and  its  belongings,  but  also  the  extraordinary 
familiarity  with  foreign  cities  shown  by  both  Lind  and  his  daugh- 
ter. As  the  rambling  conversation  went  on  (the  sonorous  cattle- 
bell  had  been  removed  by  the  rosy-cheeked  Anneli),  they  appeared 
to  be  just  as  much  at  home  in  Madrid,  in  Munich,  in  Turin,  or 
Genoa  as  in  London.  And  it  was  no  vague  and  general  tourist's 
knowledge  that  these  two  cosmopolitans  showed ;  it  was  rather 
the  knowledge  of  a  resident — an  intimate  acquaintance  with  per- 
sons, streets,  shops,  and  houses.  George  Brand  was  a  bit  of  a 
globe-trotter  himself,  and  was  entirely  interested  in  this  talk 
about  places  and  things  that  he  knew.  He  got  to  be  quite  at 
home  with  those  people,  whose  own  home  seemed  to  be  Europe. 
Reminiscences,  anecdotes  flowed  freely  on ;  the  dinner  passed 
with  unconscious  rapidity.  Lord  Evelyn  was  delighted  and 
pleased  beyond  measure  to  observe  the  more  than  courteous  at- 
tention that  bis  friend  paid  to  Xatalie  Lind. 


IN    A    HOUSE    IN    CUKZON    STREET.  23 

But  all  this  while  what  mention  was  there  of  the  great  and 
wonderful  organization — a  mere  far-off  glimpse  of  which  had  so 
captured  Lord  Evelyn's  fervent  iujagination  ?  Not  a  word.  The 
sceptic  who  had  come  among  them  could  find  nothing  either  to 
justify  or  allay  his  suspicions.  But  it  might  safely  be  said  that, 
for  the  moment  at  least,  his  suspicions  as  regarded  one  of  those 
two  were  dormant.  It  was  difficult  to  associate  trickery,  and  con- 
spiracy, and  cowardly  stabbing,  with  this  beautiful  young  Hunga- 
rian girl,  whose  calm,  dark  eyes  were  so  fearless.  It  is  true  that 
she  appeared  very  proud-spirited,  and  generous,  and  enthusiastic ; 
and  you  could  cause  her  cheek  to  pale  whenever  you  spoke  of 
injury  done  to  the  weak,  or  the  suffering,  or  the  poor.  But  that 
was  different  from  the  secret  sharpening  of  poniards. 

Once  only  was  reference  made  to  the  various  secret  associations 
that  are  slowly  but  eagerly  working  under  the  apparent  social  and 
political  surface  of  Europe,  Some  one  mentioned  the  Nihilists. 
Thereupon  Ferdinand  Lind,  in  a  quiet  and  matter-of-fact  way, 
without  appearing  to  know  anything  of  the  personnel  of  the  soci- 
ety, and  certainly  without  expressing  any  approval  of  its  aims, 
took  occasion  to  speak  of  the  extraordinary  devotion  of  those 
people. 

"  There  has  been  nothing  like  it,"  said  he,  "  in  all  the  history 
of  what  men  have  done  for  a  political  cause.  You  may  say  they 
are  fanatics,  madmen,  murderers ;  that  they  only  provoke  further 
tyranny  and  oppression ;  that  their  efforts  are  wholly  and  solely 
mischievous.  It  may  be  so ;  but  I  speak  of  the  individual  and 
what  he  is  ready  to  do.  The  sacrifice  of  their  own  life  is  taken 
almost  as  a  matter  of  course.  Each  man  knows  that  for  hiin  the 
end  will  almost  certainly  be  Siberia  or  a  public  execution ;  and 
he  accepts  it.  You  will  find  young  men,  well-born,  well-educated, 
who  go  away  from  their  friends  and  their  native  place,  who  go 
into  a  remote  village,  and  offer  to  work  at  the  commonest  trade, 
at  apprentices'  wages.  They  settle  there  ;  they  marry ;  they 
preach  nothing  but  the  value  of  honest  work,  and  extreme  sobri- 
ety, and  respect  for  superiors.  Then,  after  some  years,  when  they 
are  regarded  as  beyond  all  suspicion,  they  begin,  cautiously  and 
slowly,  to  spread  abroad  their  propaganda  —  to  teach  respect 
rather  for  human  liberty,  for  justice,  for  self-sacrifice,  for  those 
passions  that  prompt  a  nation  to  adventure  everything  for  its 
freedom.     Well,  you  know  the  end.     The  man   may  be  found 


24  SUNRISE. 

out — banished  or  executed;  but  the  association  remains.  The 
Russians  at  tliis  moment  have  no  notion  how  wide-spread  and 
powerful  it  is." 

"  The  bead-quarters,  are  they  in  Russia  itself  ?"  asked  Brand,  on 
the  watch  for  any  admission, 

"  Who  knows  ?"  said  the  other,  absently.  "  Perhaps  there  are 
none." 

"  None  ?  Surely  there  must  be  some  power  to  say  what  is  to 
be  done,  to  enforce  obedience  ?" 

"What  if  each  man  finds  that  in  himself?"  said  Lind,  with 
something  of  the  air  of  a  dreamer  coming  over  the  firm  and 
thoughtful  and  rugged  face.  "It  may  be  a  brotherhood.  All 
associations  do  not  need  to  be  controlled  by  kings  and  priests 
and  standing  armies." 

"And  the  end  of  all  this  devotion,  you  say,  is  Siberia  or  death  ?" 

"For  the  man,  perhaps;  for  his  work,  not.  It  is  not  personal 
gain  or  personal  safety  that  a  man  must  have  in  view  if  he  goes 
to  do  battle  against  the  oppression  that  has  crushed  the  world 
for  centuries  and  centuries.  Do  you  not  remember  the  answer 
given  to  the  Czar  by  Michael  Bestoujif  when  he  was  condemned  ? 
It  was  only  the  saying  of  a  peasant ;  but  it  is  one  of  the  noblest 
ever  heard  in  the  world.  '  I  have  the  power  to  pardon  you,'  said 
the  Czar  to  him,  '  and  I  would  do  so  if  I  thought  you  would  be- 
come a  faithful  subject.'  What  was  the  answer  ?  '  Sire,'  said 
Michael  Bestoujif,  '  that  is  our  great  misfortune,  that  the  Emper- 
or can  do  everything,  and  that  there  is  no  law.'" 

"Ah,  the  brave  man !"  said  Natalie  Lind,  quickly  and  passion- 
ately, with  a  fiash  of  pride  in  her  eyes.  "  The  brave  man  !  If  I 
had  a  brother,  I  would  ask  him,  *  When  will  you  show  the  cour- 
age of  Michael  Bestoujif  V  " 

Lord  Evelyn  glanced  at  her  with  a  strange,  admiring,  proud 
look.  "  If  she  had  a  brother !"  What  else,  even  with  all  his  ad- 
miration and  affection  for  her,  could  he  hope  to  be  ? 

Presently  they  wandered  back  into  other  and  lighter  subjects ; 
and  Brand,  at  least,  did  not  notice  how  the  time  was  flying. 
When  Natalie  Lind  rose,  and  asked  her  father  whether  he  would 
have  coffee  sent  into  the  smoking-room,  or  have  tea  in  the  draw- 
ing-room. Brand  was  quite  astonished  and  disappointed  to  find 
it  so  late.  He  proposed  that  they  should  at  once  go  up  to  the 
drawing-room  ;  and  this  was  done. 


IN    A    HOUSE    IN    CURZON    STREET.  25 

Tliey  liacl  been  speaking  of  musical  instruments  at  dinner; 
and  their  Lost  now  brought  them  some  venerable  lutes  to  exam- 
ine— curiosities  only,  for  most  of  the  metal  strings  were  broken. 
Beautiful  objects,  however,  they  were,  in  inlaid  ivory  or  tortoise- 
shell  and  ebony ;  made,  as  the  various  inscriptions  revealed,  at 
Bologna,  or  Padua,  or  Venice ;  and  dating,  some  of  them,  as  far 
back  as  1474.  But  in  the  midst  of  all  this,  Brand  espied  another 
instrument  on  one  of  the  small  tables. 

"  Miss  Lind,"  said  he,  with  some  surprise,  "  do  you  play  the 
zither  ?" 

"Oh  yes,  Natalie  will  play  you  something,"  her  father  said, 
carelessly ;  and  forthwith  the  girl  sat  down  to  the  small  table. 

George  Brand  retired  into  a  corner  of  the  room.  He  was  pas- 
sionately fond  of  zither  music.  He  thought  no  more  about  that 
examination  of  the  lutes. 

'■'•Do  you  know  one  tvho  can  play  the  zither  tvelW''  says  the 
proverb.  "7/"  so,  rejoice,  for  there  are  not  two  in  the  toorlciy 
However  that  might  be,  Natalie  Lind  could  play  the  zither,  as 
one  eaofer  listener  soon  discovered.  He,  in  that  far  corner,  could 
only  see  the  profile  of  the  girl  (just  touched  with  a  faint  red 
from  the  shade  of  the  nearest  candle,  as  she  leaned  over  the  in- 
strument), and  the  shapely  wrists  and  fingers  as  they  moved  on 
the  metallic  strings.  But  was  that  what  he  really  did  see  when 
the  first  low  tremulous  notes  struck  the  prelude  to  one  of  the 
old  pathetic  VolksUeder  that  many  a  time  he  had  heard  in  the 
morning,  when  the  fresh  wind  blew  in  from  the  pines ;  that 
many  a  time  he  had  heard  in  the  evening,  when  the  little  blue- 
eyed  Kathchen  and  her  mother  sung  together  as  they  sat  and 
knitted  on  the  bench  in  front  of  the  inn?  Suddenly  the  air 
changes.  What  is  this  louder  tramp?  Is  it  not  the  joyous  cho- 
rus of  the  home-returning  huntsmen ;  the  lads  with  the  slain  roe- 
deer  slung  round  their  necks  ;  that  stalwart  Bavarian  keeper  haul- 
ing at  his  mighty  black  hound ;  old  father  Keinitz,  with  his  three 
beagles  and  his  ancient  breech-loader,  hurrying  forward  to  get 
the  first  cool,  vast,  splendid  draught  of  the  clear,  white  wine  ? 
How  the  young  fellows  come  swinging  along  through  the  dust, 
their  faces  ablaze  against  the  sunset !  Listen  to  the  far,  hoarse 
chorus ! — 

"  Daun  kehr'  ich  von  der  Haide, 
Zur  hauslich  stillen  Freude, 
9 


26  SUNRISE. 

Ein  f  romraer  Jiigersmann  ! 
Eiii  frommer  Jiigersmanu ! 
Halli,  hallo  !  halli,  hallo ! 

Ein  f  i-omnier  Jiigersmann  !" 

White  wine  now,  and  likewise  the  richer  red ! — for  there  is  a 
great  hand-shaking  because  of  the  Mr.  Englishman's  good  fortune 
in  having  shot  three  bucks ;  and  the  little  Kiithchen's  eyes  grow 
full,  because  they  have  brought  home  a  gentle-faced  hind,  likewise 
cruelly  slain.  And  Kathchen's  mother  has  whisked  inside,  and 
here  are  the  tall  schoppen  on  the  table  ;  and  speedily  the  long, 
low  room  is  filled  with  the  tobacco-smoke.  What !  another  song, 
you  thirsty  old  Keinitz,  with  the  quavering  voice?  But  there  is 
a  lusty  chorus  to  that  too  ;  and  a  great  clinking  of  glasses ;  and 
the  Englishman  laughs  and  does  his  part  too,  and  he  has  called 

for  six  more  schoppen  of  red But  hush,  now !     Have  we 

come  out  from  the  din  and  the  smoke  to  the  cool  evening  air? 
What  is  that  one  hears  afar  in  the  garden  ?  Surely  it  is  the  little 
Kathchen  and  her  mother  singing  together,  in  beautiful  harmony, 
the  old,  familiar,  tender  Lorelei  ?  The  zither  is  a  strange  instru- 
ment— it  speaks.  And  when  Natalie  Lind,  coming  to  this  air, 
sung  in  a  low  contralto  voice  an  only  half  -  suggested  second,  it 
seemed  to  those  in  the  room  that  two  women  were  singing — the 
one  with  a  voice  low  and  rich  and  penetrating,  the  other  voice 
clear  and  sweet  like  the  singing  of  a  young  girl.  "2>/e  Luft  ist 
kuhl  und  es  dunkelt,  und  ruhig  Jliesset  der  Rhein.''''  Was  it,  in- 
deed, Kathchen  and  her  mother  ?  Were  they  far  away  in  the 
beautiful  pine-land,  with  the  quiet  evening  shining  red  over  the 
green  woods,  and  darkness  coming  over  the  pale  streams  in  the 
hollows  ?  When  Natalie  Lind  ceased,  the  elder  of  the  two  guests 
murmured  to  himself,  "  Wonderful !  wonderful !"  The  other  did 
not  speak  at  all. 

She  rested  her  hands  for  a  moment  on  the  table. 

"  Natalushka,"  said  her  father,  "  is  that  all  ?" 

"I  will  not  be  called  Natalushka,  papa,"  said  she;  but  again 
she  bent  her  hands  over  the  silver  strings. 

And  these  brighter  and  gayer  airs  now — surely  they  are  from 
the  laughing  and  light-hearted  South  ?  Have  we  not  heard  them 
under  the  cool  shade  of  the  olive-trees,  with  the  hot  sun  blazing 
on  the  garden-paths  of  the  Villa  Reale ;  and  the  children  play- 
ing; and  the  band  busy  with  its  dancing  canzoni,  the  gay  notes 


IN    A    HOUSE    IN    CURZON    STREET.  27 

drowning  the  murmur  and  plash  of  tlie  fountains  near  ?  Look 
now ! — far  beneath  the  gray  shadow  of  the  olive-trees — the  deep 
blue  band  of  the  sea ;  and  there  the  double-sailed  barca,  like  a 
yellow  butterfly  hovering  on  the  water;  and  there  the  large  mar- 
tingallo,  bound  for  the  cloud-like  island  on  the  horizon.  Are  they 
singing,  then,  as  they  speed  over  the  glancing  waves  ? . .  . .  "0 
dolce  Najwli !  0  suol  bcato  !''\  .  .  .for  what  can  they  sing  at  all, 
as  they  leave  us,  if  they  do  not  sing  the  pretty,  tender,  tinkling 
"Santa  Lucia?" 

"  Venite  all'  agile 

Barchctta  mia  ! 

Santa  Lucia ! 

Santa  Lucia !" 

. . .  .The  notes  grow  fainter  and  fainter.  Are  tlie  tall  maidens 
of  Capri  already  looking  out  for  the  swarthy  sailors,  that  these 
turn  no  longer  to  the  shores  they  are  leaving?....  "0  dolce 
NajJoU!  0  suol  beato  r\  .  .  .  Fainter  and  fainter  grow  the  notes 
on  the  trembling  string,  so  that  you  can  scarcely  tell  them  from 
the  cool  plashing  of  the  fountains "  Santa  Lucia  ! . . . .  San- 
ta Lucia .'" .... 

"  Nataluslika,"  said  her  father,  laughing,  "  you  must  take  us  to 
Venice  now." 

The  young  Hungarian  girl  rose,  and  put  the  zither  aside. 

"  It  is  an  amusement  for  children,"  she  said. 

She  went  to  the  piano,  which  was  open,  and  took  down  a  piece 
of  music  —  it  was  Kucken's  "Maid  of  Judah."  Now,  hitherto, 
George  Brand  had  only  heard  her  murmur  a  low,  harmonious 
second  to  one  or  other  of  the  airs  she  had  been  playing ;  and  he 
was  quite  unprepared  for  the  passion  and  fervor  which  her  rich, 
deep,  resonant,  contralto  voice  threw  into  this  wail  of  indignation 
and  despair.  This  was  the  voice  of  a  woman,  not  of  a  girl ;  and 
it  was  \\\i\\  the  proud  passion  of  a  woman  that  she  seemed  to 
send  this  cry  to  Heaven  for  reparation,  and  justice,  and  revenge. 
And  surely  it  was  not  only  of  the  sorrows  of  the  land  of  Judah 
she  was  thinking? — it  was  a  wider  cry — the  cry  of  the  oppressed, 
and  the  suffering,  and  the  heart-broken  in  every  clime — 

"  0  blest  native  land  !  0  fatherland  mine ! 
How  long  for  thy  refuge  in  vain  shall  I  pine  ?" 

He  could  have  believed  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes  just  then ; 


28  SUNRISE, 

but  there  were  none,  he  knew,  when  she  came  to  the  fierce  and 
piteous  appeal  that  followed — 

"  Where,  where  are  thy  proud  sons,  so  lordly  in  might  ? 
All  mown  do^vn  and  fallen  in  blood-welling  fight ! 
Thy  cities  are  ruin,  thy  valleys  lie  waste. 
Their  summer  enchantment  the  foe  hath  erased. 
O  blest  native  land  !  how  long  shalt  decline  ? 
When,  when  will  the  Lord  cry, '  Kevenge,  it  is  Mine  ?'  " 

The  zither  speaks ;  but  there  is  a  speech  beyond  that  of  the 
zither.  The  penetrating  vibration  of  this  rich  and  pathetic  voice 
was  a  thing  not  easily  to  be  forgotten.  When  the  two  friends 
left  the  house,  they  found  themselves  in  the  chill  darkness  of  an 
English  night  in  February,  Surely  it  must  have  seemed  to  them 
that  they  had  been  dwelling  for  a  period  in  warmer  climes,  with 
gay  colors,  and  warmth,  and  sweet  sounds  around  them.  They 
walked  for  some  time  in  silence, 

"  Well,"  said  Lord  Evelyn,  at  last,  "  what  do  you  think  of  them  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  other,  after  a  pause.  "  I  am  puzzled. 
How  did  you  come  to  know  them  ?" 

"  I  came  to  know  Lind  through  a  newspaper  reporter  called 
O'Halloran.     I  should  like  to  introduce  you  to  him  too." 

George  Brand  soon  afterward  parted  from  his  friend,  and 
walked  away  down  to  his  silent  rooms  over  the  river.  The 
streets  were  dark  and  deserted,  and  the  air  was  still ;  yet  there 
seemed  somehow  to  be  a  tremulous,  passionate,  distant  sound  in 
the  night.  It  was  no  tinkling  "  Santa  Lucia  "dying  away  over 
the  blue  seas  in  the  south.  It  was  no  dull,  sonorous  bell,  sug- 
gesting memories  of  the  far  Campagna,  Was  it  not  rather  the 
quick,  responsive  echo  that  had  involuntarily  arisen  in  his  own 
heart,  when  he  heard  Natalie  Lind's  thrilling  voice  pour  forth 
that  proud  and  indignant  appeal, 

"  When,  when  will  the  Lord  cry, '  Revenge,  it  is  Mme  ?'  " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A    STRANGER, 


Ferdinand  Lind  was  in  his  study,  busy  with  his  morning  let- 
ters. It  was  a  nondescript  little  den,  which  he  also  used  as  libra- 
ry and  smoking-room  ;  its  chief  feature  being  a  collection  of  por- 


A    STRANGERS  29 

traits  —  a  most  licterogcncous  assortment  of  engravings,  photo- 
graphs, woodcuts,  and  terra -cotta  busts.  Wlicrcver  the  book- 
shelves ceased,  these  began  ;  and  as  there  were  a  great  number  of 
them,  and  as  the  room  was  small,  Mr.  Lind's  friends  or  historical 
heroes  sometimes  came  into  odd  juxtaposition.  In  any  case,  they 
formed  a  strange  assemblage — Arndt  and  Korncr ;  Stein;  Silvio 
Pellico  and  Karl  Sand  check  by  jowl ;  Pestal,  Comte,  Cromwell, 
Garibaldi,  Marx,  Mazzini,  Bem,  Kossuth,  Lassalle,  and  many  an- 
other writer  and  fighter.  A  fine  engraving  of  Napoleon  as  First 
Consul  was  hung  over  the  mantel-piece,  a  pipe-rack  intervening 
between  it  and  a  fac-simile  of  the  warrant  for  the  execution  of 
Charles  I. 

Something  in  his  correspondence  had  obviously  annoyed  the 
occupant  of  this  little  study.  His  brows  were  bent  down,  and 
he  kept  his  foot  nervously  and  impatiently  tapping  on  the  floor. 
When  some  one  knocked,  he  said,  "  Come  in !"  almost  angrily, 
though  he  must  have  known  wdio  was  his  visitor, 

"  Good-morning,  papa !"  said  the  tall  Hungarian  girl,  coming 
into  the  room  with  a  light  step  and  a  smile  of  welcome  on  her 
face. 

"Good -morning,  Natalie!"  said  he,  without  looking  up.  "I 
am  busy  this  morning." 

"  01),  but,  papa,"  said  she,  going  over,  and  stooping  down  and 
kissing  him,  "  you  must  let  me  come  and  thank  you  for  the  flow- 
ers.    They  are  more  beautiful  than  ever  this  time." 

"What  flowers?"  said  he,  impatiently. 

"  Why,"  she  said,  with  a  look  of  astonishment,  "  have  you  for- 
gotten already  ?  The  flowers  you  always  send  for  ray  birthday 
morning." 

But  instantly  she  changed  her  tone. 

"Ah!  I  see.  Good  little  children  must  not  ask  where  the 
fairy  gifts  come  from.     There,  I  will  not  disturb  you,  papa." 

She  touched  his  shoulder  caressingly  as  she  passed. 

"  But  thank  you  again,  papa  Santa  Claus." 

At  breakfast,  Ferdinand  Lind  seemed  to  have  entirely  recov- 
ered his  good-humor. 

"I  had  forgotten  for  the  moment  it  was  your  birthday,  Nata- 
lie," said  he.     "  You  are  quite  a  grown  woman  now." 

Nothing,  however,  was  said  about  the  flowers,  though  the  beau- 
tiful basket  stood  on  a  side-table,  filling  the  room  with  its  per- 


30  SUNRISE. 

fume.     After  breakfast,  Mr.  Lind  left  for  his  office,  his  daughter 
setting  about  lier  domestic  duties. 

At  twelve  o'clock  she  was  ready  to  go  out  for  her  accustomed 
morning  walk.  The  pretty  little  Anneli,  her  companion  on  these 
excursions,  was  also  ready  ;  and  together  they  set  forth.  They 
chatted  frankly  together  in  German — the  ordinary  relations  be- 
tween mistress  and  servant  never  having  been  properly  establish- 
ed in  this  case.  For  one  thing,  they  had  been  left  to  depend  on 
each  other's  society  during  many  a  long  evening  in  foreign  towns, 
when  Mr.  Lind  was  away  on  his  own  business.  For  another,  Na- 
talie Lind  had,  somehow  or  other,  and  quite  unaided,  arrived  at 
the  daring  conclusion  that  servants  were  human  beings ;  and  she 
had  been  taught  to  regard  human  beings  as  her  brothers  and  sis- 
ters, some  more  fortunate  than  others,  no  doubt,  but  the  least  fort- 
unate having  the  greatest  claim  on  her. 

"  Fraulein,"  said  the  little  Saxon  maid,  "  it  was  I  myself  who 
took  in  the  beautiful  flowers  that  came  for  you  this  morning." 

"Yes?" 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  and  I  thought  it  was  very  strange  for  a  lady 
to  be  out  so  early  in  the  morning." 

"  A  lady  !"  said  Natalie  Lind,  with  a  quick  surprise.  "  Not 
dressed  all  in  black  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  she  was  dressed  all  in  black." 

The  girl  was  silent  for  a  second  or  two.  Then  she  said,  with 
a  smile, 

"  It  is  not  right  for  my  father  to  send  me  a  black  messenger 
on  my  birthday — it  is  not  a  good  omen.  And  it  was  the  same 
last  year  when  we  were  in  Paris ;  the  concierge  told  me.  Birth- 
day gifts  should  come  with  a  white  fairy,  you  know,  Anneli — all 
silver  and  bells." 

"  Frtiulein,"  said  the  little  German  girl,  gravely,  "  I  do  not 
think  the  lady  who  came  this  morning  would  bring  you  any  ill 
fortune,  for  she  spoke  with  such  gentleness  when  she  asked  about 
you." 

"  When  she  asked  about  me  ?  What  was  she  like,  then,  this 
black  messenger  ?" 

"IIow  could  I  see,  Fraulein  ? — her  veil  was  so  thick.  But  her 
hair  was  gray ;  I  could  see  that.  And  she  had  a  beautiful  figure 
— not  quite  as  tall  as  you,  Fraulein ;  I  watched  her  as  she  w^ent 
away." 


A    STRANGER.  31 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  safe,  Anneli,  to  watcli  tlic  people 
whom  Santa  Chins  sends,"  tlic  young  mistress  said,  lii^litly. 
"  However,  you  have  not  told  nic  wliat  the  strange  lady  said  to 
you." 

"Th;it  will  I  now  tell  you,  Friinlein,"  said  tlic  other,  with  an 
air  of  importance.  "  Well,  wlien  I  heard  the  knock  at  the  door, 
I  went  instantly ;  I  thought  it  was  strange  to  hear  a  knock  sf) 
early,  instead  of  the  bell.  Then  there  was  the  lady  ;  and  she  did 
not  ask  who  lived  there,  but  she  said,  'Miss  Lind  is  not  up  yet?' 
But  tlien,  Friiulein,  you  must  understand,  she  did  not  speak  like 
that,  f<M-  it  was  in  English,  and  she  spoke  very  slowly,  as  if  it  was 
with  dilliculty.  I  would  have  said,  '  Will  the  f/niidif/e  Frau  be 
pleased  to  speak  German?'  but  I  was  afraid  it  might  be  imperti- 
nent for  a  maid-servant  to  address  a  lady  so.  Besides,  Friiulein, 
she  might  have  been  a  French  lady,  and  not  able  to  understand 
our  German." 

"Quite  so,  Anneli.     Well?" 

"  Then  I  told  her  I  believed  you  were  still  in  your  room.  Then 
she  said,  still  speaking  very  slowly,  as  if  it  was  all  learned,  '  Will 
you  be  so  kind  as  to  put  those  flowers  just  outside  her  room,  so 
that  she  will  get  them  when  she  comes  out?'  And  I  said  I  would 
do  that.  Then  she  said,  '  I  hope  Miss  Lind  is  very  well ;'  and  I 
said, '  Oh  yes.'  She  stood  for  a  moment  just  then,  Friiulein,  as 
if  not  knowing  whether  to  go  away  or  not ;  and  then  she  asked 
again  if  you  were  quite  well  and  strong  and  cheerful,  and  again  I 
said,  '  Oh  yes ;'  and  no  sooner  had  I  said  that  than  she  put  some- 
thing into  my  hand  and  went  away,  ^^'ould  you  believe  it,  Friiu- 
lein ?  it  was  a  sovereign — an  English  golden  sovereign.  And  so 
I  ran  after  her  and  said,  '  Lady,  this  is  a  mistake,'  and  I  offered 
her  the  sovereign.     That  was  right,  was  it  not,  Friiulein  ?" 

"  Certainly."' 

"  Well,  she  did  not  speak  to  me  at  all  this  time.  I  think  the 
poor  lady  has  less  English  even  than  I  myself;  but  she  closed  my 
hand  over  the  sovereign,  and  then  patted  me  on  the  arm,  and 
went  away.  It  was  then  that  I  looked  after  her.  I  said  to  my- 
self,'  Well,  there  is  only  one  lady  that  I  know  who  has  a  more 
beautiful  figure  than  that — that  is  my  mistress.'  But  she  was 
not  so  tall  as  you,  Friiulein." 

Natalie  Lind  paid  no  attention  to  this  adroit  piece  of  flattery 
on  the  part  of  her  little  Saxon  maid. 


32  SUNRISE. 

"  It  is  very  extraordinary,  Anneli,"  slie  said,  after  awhile ;  tlien 
she  added,  "  I  hope  the  piece  of  gold  you  have  will  not  turn  to 
dust  and  ashes." 

"  Look  at  it,  Friiulcin,"  said  Anneli,  taking  out  her  purse  and 
producing  a  sound  and  solid  English  coin,  about  which  there  ap- 
peared to  be  no  demonology  or  witchcraft  whatsoever. 

They  had  by  this  time  got  into  Park  Lane ;  and  here  the 
young  mistress's  speculations  about  the  mysterious  messenger  of 
Santa  Claus  were  suddenly  cut  short  by  something  more  imme- 
diate and  more  practical.  There  was  a  small  boy  of  about  ten 
engaged  in  pulling  a  wheelbarrow  which  -was  lieavily  laden  with 
large  baskets — probably  containing  washing ;  and  he  was  toiling 
manfully  with  a  somewhat  hopeless  task.  IIow  he  had  got  so 
far  it  was  impossible  to  say  ;  but  now  that  his  strength  was  ex- 
hausted, he  was  trying  all  sorts  of  ineffectual  dodges — even  tilting 
up  the  barrow  and  endeavoring  to  haul  it  by  the  legs — to  get  the 
thing  along. 

"  If  I  were  a  man,"  said  Natalie  Lind,  "  I  would  help  that 
boy." 

Then  she  stepped  from  the  pavement. 

"  Little  boy,"  she  said,  "  where  are  you  taking  that  barrow  ?" 

The  London  (jamin,  always  on  the  watch  for  sarcasm,  stopped 
and  stared  at  her.  Then  he  took  off  his  cap  and  wiped  his  fore- 
head ;  it  was  warm  work,  though  this  was  a  chill  February  morn- 
ing.    Finally  he  said, 

"  Well,  I'm  agoin'  to  Warrington  Crescent,  Maida  Vale.  But 
if  it's  when  I  am  likely  to  git  there — bust  me  if  I  know." 

She  looked  about.  There  was  a  good,  sturdy  specimen  of  the 
London  loafer  over  at  the  park  railings,  with  both  hands  up  at 
his  mouth,  trying  to  light  his  pipe.     She  went  across  to  him. 

"  I  will  give  you  half  a  crown  if  you  will  pull  that  barrow  to 
Warrington  Crescent,  Maida  Vale."  Tliere  was  no  hesitation  in 
her  manner;  she  looked  the  loafer  fair  in  the  face. 

He  instantly  took  the  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  made  some 
slouching  attempt  at  touching  his  cap. 

"Thank  ye,  miss.  Thank  ye  kindly" — and  away  the  barrow 
went,  with  the  small  boy  manfully  pushing  behind. 

The  tall,  black-eyed  Hungarian  girl  and  her  rosy-cheeked  at- 
tendant now  turned  into  the  Park.  There  were  a  good  many  peo- 
ple riding  by  —  fathers  with  their  daugliters,  elderly  gentlemen 


A    STRANGER.  33 

very  correctly  dressed,  smart  young  men  with  a  little  tawny 
mustache,  clear  blue  eyes,  and  square  shoulders. 

"  Many  of  those  Englishmen  are  very  handsome,"  said  the 
young  mistress,  by  chance. 

"Not  like  the  Austrians,  Fraulein,"  said  Anneli. 

"The  Austrians?  What  do  you  know  about  the  Austrians?" 
said  the  other,  sharply. 

"When  my  uncle  was  ill  at  Prague,  Fraulein,"  the  girl  said, 
"  my  mother  took  me  there  to  see  him.  AVe  used  to  go  out  to 
the  river,  and  go  half-way  over  the  tall  bridge,  and  then  down  to 
the  '  Sofien-Inscl.'  Ah,  the  beautiful  place! — with  the  music,  and 
the  walks  under  the  trees ;  and  there  we  used  to  see  the  Austrian 
officers.  These  iverc  handsome,  with  their  beautiful  uniforms, 
and  waists  like  a  girl ;  and  the  beautiful  gloves  they  wore,  too ! 
— even  when  they  were  smoking  cigarettes." 

Natalie  Lind  was  apparently  thinking  of  other  things.  She 
neither  rebuked  nor  approved  Anneli's  speech ;  though  it  was 
hard  that  the  little  Saxon  maid  should  have  preferred  to  the 
sturdy,  white-haired,  fair-skinned  warriors  of  her  native  land  the 
elegant  young  gentlemen  of  Francis  Joseph's  army. 

"  They  are  handsome,  those  Englishmen,"  Natalie  Lind  was 
saying,  almost  to  herself,  "  and  very  rich  and  brave ;  but  they 
have  no  sympathy.  All  their  fighting  for  their  liberty  is  over 
and  gone;  they  cannot  believe  there  is  any  oppression  now  any- 
where ;  and  they  think  that  those  who  wish  to  help  the  sufferers 
of  the  world  are  only  discontented  and  fanatic — a  trouble — an 
annoyance.  And  they  are  hard  with  the  poor  people  and  the 
weak ;  they  think  it  is  wrong — that  you  have  done  wrong — if 
you  are  not  well  off  and  strong  like  themselves.  I  wonder  if 
tliat  was  really  an  English  lady  who  wrote  the  '  Cry  of  the  Chil- 
dren.' " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Fraulein." 

"  Nothing,  Anneli.  I  was  wondering  why  so  rich  a  nation  as 
the  English  should  have  so  many  poor  people  among  them — 
and  such  miserable  poor  people ;  there  is  nothing  like  it  in  the 
world." 

Thev  were  walking;  alono-  the  broad  road  leadino-  to  the  Mar- 
ble  Arch,  between  the  leafless  trees.  Suddenly  the  little  Saxon 
girl  exclaimed,  in  an  excited  whisper, 

"Fraulein!  Fraulein  I" 

o* 


34  SUNRISE. 

"Whatisit,Anneli?" 

"  The  lady — tlie  lady  who  came  with  the  flowers — she  is  be- 
hind us.     Yes ;  I  am  sure." 

The  girl's  mistress  glanced  quickly  round.  Some  distance  be- 
hind them  there  was  certainly  a  lady  dressed  altogether  in  black, 
who,  the  moment  she  perceived  that  these  two  were  regarding 
her,  turned  aside,  and  pretended  to  pick  up  something  from  the 
grass. 

"  Fraulein,  Fraulein,"  said  Anncli,  eagerly ;  "  let  us  sit  down 
on  this  seat.     Do  not  look  at  her.     She  will  pass." 

The  sudden  presence  of  this  stranger,  about  whom  she  had 
been  thinking  so  much,  had  somewhat  unnerved  her ;  she  obey- 
ed this  suggestion  almost  mechanically;  and  waited  with  her 
heart  throbbing.  For  an  instant  or  two  it  seemed  as  if  that  dark 
figure  along  by  the  trees  were  inclined  to  turn  and  leave;  but 
presently  Natalie  Lind  knew  rather  than  saw  that  this  slender 
and  graceful  woman  with  the  black  dress  and  the  deep  veil  was 
approaching  her.  She  came  nearer ;  for  a  second  she  came 
closer;  some  little  white  thing  was  dropped  into  the  girl's  lap, 
and  the  stranger  passed  quickly  on. 

"  Anneli,  Anneli,"  the  young  mistress  said,  "  the  lady  has 
dropped  her  locket !     Eun  with  it — quick  !" 

"  No,  Fraulein,"  said  the  other,  quite  as  breathlessly,  "  she 
meant  it  for  you.  Oh,  look,  Fraulein  ! — look  at  the  poor  lady — 
she  is  crying." 

The  sharp  eyes  of  the  younger  girl  were  right.  Surely  that 
slender  figure  was  being  shaken  with  sobs  as  it  hurried  away  and 
was  lost  among  the  groups  coming  through  the  Marble  Arch ! 
Natalie  Lind  sat  there  as  one  stupefied — breathless,  silent,  trem- 
bling.    She  had  not  looked  at  the  locket  at  all. 

"Anneli,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  was  that  the  same  lady? 
Are  you  sure?" 

"Certain,  Fraulein,"  said  her  companion,  eagerly. 

"  She  must  be  very  unhappy,"  said  the  girl.  "  I  think,  too, 
she  was  crying." 

'  Then  she  looked  at  the  trinket  that  the  stranger  had  dropped 
into  her  lap.  It  was  an  old-fashioned  silver  locket,  formed  in 
the  shape  of  a  heart,  and  ornamented  with  the  most  delicate  fila^ 
gree  work ;  in  the  centre  of  it  was  the  letter  N  in  old  German 
text.    When  Natalie  Lind  opened  it,  she  found  inside  only  a  small 


PIONEERS.  35 

piece  of  paper,  on  wliieli  was  writton,  in  foreign-looking  charac- 
ters, "From  Natalie  to  Nataluahkay 

"Anneli,  she  knows  my  name!"  the  girl  excluimed. 

"  Would  you  not  like  to  speak  to  the  poor  lady,  Friiulein  ?" 
said  the  little  German  maid,  who  was  very  much  excited,  too- 
"  And  do  you  not  think  she  is  sure  to  come  this  way  again — to- 
morrow, next  day,  some  other  day  ?  Perhaps  she  is  ill  or  suffer- 
ing, or  she  may  have  lost  some  one  whom  you  resemble — how 
can  one  tell  ?" 


CHAPTER  V. 

PIONEERS. 

Before  sitting  down  to  breakfast,  on  this  dim  and  dreary 
morning  in  Fcljruary,  George  Brand  went  to  one  of  the  windows 
of  his  sitting-room  and  looked  abroad  on  the  busy  world  with- 
out. Busy  indeed  it  seemed  to  be — the  steamers  hurrying  up 
and  down  the  river,  hansoms  whirling  along  the  Embankment, 
heavily  laden  omnibuses  chasing  each  other  across  Waterloo 
Bridge,  the  underground  railway  from  time  to  time  rumbling 
beneath  those  wintry-looking  gardens,  and  always  and  everywhere 
the  ceaseless  murmur  of  a  great  city.  In  the  midst  of  all  this 
eager  activity,  he  was  only  a  spectator.  Busy  enough  the  world 
around  him  seemed  to  be  ;  he  alone  was  idle. 

Well,  what  had  he  to  look  forward  to  on  this  dull  day,  when 
once  he  had  tinished  his  breakfast  and  his  newspapers?  It  had 
already  begun  to  drizzle;  there  was  to  be  no  saunter  up  to  the 
park.  He  would  stroll  along  to  his  club,  and  say  "Good-morn- 
ing "  to  one  or  two  acquaintances.  Perhaps  he  would  glance  at 
some  more  newspapers.  Perhaps,  tired  of  reading  news  that 
did  not  interest,  and  forming  opinions  never  to  be  translated  into 
action,  he  would  take  refuge  in  the  library.  Somehow,  anyhow, 
he  would  desperately  tide  over  the  morning  till  lunch-time. 

Luncheon  would  be  a  break ;  but  after ?    He  had  not  been 

long  enough  in  England  to  become  familiar  with  the  whist-set ; 
similarly,  he  had  been  too  long  abroad  to  be  proficient  in  English 
billiards,  even  if  he  had  been  willing  to  make  cither  whist  or  pool 
the  pursuit  of  his  life.  As  for  afternoon  calls  and  tea-drinking, 
that  may  be  an  interesting  occupation  for  young  gentlemen  in 


36  SUNRISE. 

search  of  a  wife,  but  it  is  too  ghastly  a  business  for  one  who  has 
no  such  views.  "What  then?  More  newspapers?  More  tedious 
lounging  in  the  hushed  library  ?  Or  how  were  the  "  impractica- 
ble hours  "  to  be  disposed  of  before  came  night  and  sleep  ? 

George  Brand  did  not  stay  to  consider  that,  when  a  man  in  the 
prime  of  health  and  vigor,  possessed  of  an  ample  fortune,  unfet- 
tered by  anybody's  will  but  his  own,  and  burdened  by  neither 
remorse  nor  regret,  nevertheless  begins  to  find  life  a  thing  too 
tedious  to  be  borne,  there  must  be  a  cause  for  it.  On  the  con- 
trary, instead  of  ashing  himself  any  questions,  he  set  about  get- 
ting through  his  daily  programme  with  an  Englishman's  deter- 
mination to  be  prepared  for  the  worst.  lie  walked  up  to  his 
club,  the  Waldegrave,  in  Pall  Mall.  In  the  morning-room  there 
were  only  two  or  three  old  gentlemen,  seated  in  easy-chairs  near 
the  fire,  and  grumbling  in  a  loud  voice — for  apparently  one  or 
two  were  rather  deaf — about  the  weather.  Brand  glanced  at  a 
few  more  newspapers.  Then  a  happy  idea  occurred  to  him ;  he 
would  go  up  to  the  smoking-room  and  smoke  a  cigarette. 

In  this  vast  hall  of  a  place  there  were  only  two  persons — one 
standing  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  the  other  lying  back  in  an  easy- 
chair,  The  one  was  a  florid,  elderly  gentleman,  who  was  first 
cousin  to  a  junior  Lord  of  the  Treasury,  and  therefore  claimed  to 
be  a  profound  authority  on  politics,  home  and  foreign.  He  was 
a  harmless  poor  devil  enough,  from  whom  a  merciful  Providence 
had  concealed  the  fact  that  his  brain-power  was  of  the  smallest. 
His  companion,  reclining  in  the  easy-chair,  was  a  youthful  Fine 
Art  Professor ;  a  gelatinous  creature,  a  bundle  of  languid  affecta- 
tions, with  the  added  and  fluttering  self-consciousness  of  a  school- 
miss.  He  was  absently  assenting  to  the  propositions  of  the  florid 
gentleman ;  but  it  is  probable  that  his  soul  was  elsewhere. 

These  propositions  were  to  the  effect  that  leading  articles  in  a 
newspaper  were  a  mere  impertinence ;  that  he  himself  never  read 
such  things  ;  that  the  business  of  a  newspaper  was  to  supply 
news ;  and  that  an  intelligent  Englishman  was  better  capable  of 
forming  a  judgment  on  public  affairs  than  the  hacks  of  a  news- 
paper-office. The  intelligent  Englishman  then  proceeded  to  de- 
liver his  own  judgment  on  the  question  of  the  day,  which  turned 
out  to  be — to  Mr.  Brand's  great  surprise — nothing  more  nor  less 
than  a  blundering  and  inaccurate  resume  of  the  opinions  express- 
ed in  a  leading  article  in  that  morning's  Times.      At  length  this 


PIONEERS.  37 

one-sided  conversation  between  a  jackanapes  and  a  jackass  be- 
came too  intolerable  for  Brand,  who  threw  away  his  cigarette, 
and  descended  once  more  into  the  hall. 

"  A  gentleman  wishes  to  see  you,  sir,"  said  a  boy  ;  and  at  the 
same  moment  lie  caught  sight  of  Lord  Evelyn. 

"Thank  God!"  he  exclaimed,  hurrying  forward  to  shake  his 
friend  by  the  hand.  "  Conic,  Evelyn,  what  are  you  up  to?  1 
can't  stand  England  any  longer ;  will  you  take  a  run  with  me? — 
Algiers,  Egypt,  anywhere  you  like.  Let  us  drop  down  to  Dover 
in  the  afternoon,  and  settle  it  there.  Or  what  do  you  say  to  the 
Riviera  ?  we  should  be  sure  to  run  against  some  people  at  one  or 
other  of  the  towns.  Upon  my  life,  if  you  had  not  turned  up,  I 
think  I  should  have  cut  my  throat  before  lunch-time." 

"  I  have  got  something  better  for  you  to  do  than  that,"  said 
the  other ;  "  I  want  you  to  see  O'lLilloran.  Come  along ;  I  liave 
a  hansom  here.  We  shall  just  catch  him  at  Atkinson's,  the  book- 
shop, you  know." 

"  Very  well ;  all  right,"  Brand  said,  briskly  :  this  seemed  to  be 
rather  a  more  cheerful  business  than  cutting  one's  throat. 

"  He's  at  his  telegraph-wire  all  night,"  Lord  Evelyn  said,  in  the 
hansom.  "  Then  he  lies  down  for  a  few  hours'  sleep  on  a  sofa. 
Then  he  goes  along  to  his  rooms  in  Pimlico  for  breakfast ;  but  at 
Atkinson's  he  generally  stops  for  awhile  on  his  way,  to  have  his 
morning  drink." 

"  Oh,  is  that  the  sort  of  person  ?" 

"Don't  make  any  mistake.  O'llalloran  may  be  eccentric  in 
his  ways  of  living,  but  he  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  I 
have  ever  run  against.  His  knowledge,  his  reading — politics, 
philosophy,  everything,  in  short  —  the  brilliancy  of  his  talking 
when  he  gets  excited,  even  the  extraordinary  variety  of  his  per- 
sonal acquaintance — why,  there  is  nothing  going  on  that  he  does 
not  know  about." 

"But  why  has  this  Hibernian  genius  done  nothing  at  all?" 

"  Why  ?  You  might  as  well  try  to  kindle  a  fire  with  a  flash  of 
lightning.  He  has  more  political  knowledge  and  more  power  of 
brilliant  writing  than  Jialf  the  editors  in  London  put  together  ; 
but  he  would  ruin  any  paper  in  twenty-four  hours.  His  first  ob- 
ject would  probably  be  to  frighten  his  readers  out  of  their  wits 
by  some  monstrous  paradox  ;  his  next  to  show  them  what  fools 
they  had  been.     I  don't  know  how  he  has  been  kept  on  so  long 


38  SUNRISE. 

where  he  is,  unless  it  be  that  he  deals  with  news  only.  I  believe 
he  had  to  be  withdrawn  from  the  gallery  of  the  House ;  he  was 
very  impatient  over  the  prosy  members,  and  his  remarks  about 
them  began  to  reach  the  Speaker's  ear  too  frequently." 

"  I  gather,  then,  that  he  is  merely  a  clever,  idle,  Irish  vagabond, 
who  drinks." 

"  He  does  not  drink.  And  as  for  his  Irish  name,  I  suppose 
he  must  be  Irish  either  by  descent  or  birth ;  but  he  is  continually 
abusing  Ireland  and  the  Irish.  Probably,  however,  he  would  not 
let  anybody  else  do  so." 

Mr.  Atkinson's  book-shop  in  the  Strand  was  a  somewhat  dingy- 
looking  place,  filled  with  publications  mostly  of  an  exceedingly 
advanced  character.  Mr.  Atkinson  himself  claimed  to  be  a  bit  of 
a  reformer;  and  had  indeed  brought  himself,  on  one  or  two  oc- 
casions, within  reach  of  the  law  by  issuing  pamphlets  of  a  some- 
what too  fearless  aim.  On  this  occasion  he  was  not  in  the  shop ; 
so  the  two  friends  passed  through,  ascended  a  dark  little  stair, 
and  entered  a  room  which  smelled  strongly  of  tobacco-smoke. 

The  solitary  occupant  of  this  chamber,  to  whom  Brand  was 
immediately  introduced,  was  a  man  of  about  fifty,  carelessly  if 
not  even  shabbily  dressed,  with  large  masses  of  unkempt  hair, 
and  eyes,  dark  gray,  deep-set,  that  had  very  markedly  the  look  of 
the  eyes  of  a  lion.  The  face  was  worn  and  pallid,  but  when  lit 
up  with  excitement  it  was  capable  of  much  expression ;  and  Mr. 
O'Halloran,  when  he  did  become  excited,  got  very  much  excited 
indeed.  He  had  laid  aside  his  pipe,  and  was  just  finishing  his 
gin  and  soda-water,  taken  from  Mr.  Atkinson's  private  store. 

However,  the  lion  so  seldom  roars  when  it  is  expected  to  roar. 
Instead  of  the  extraordinary  creature  whom  Lord  Evelyn  liad 
been  describing,  Brand  found  merely  an  Irish  newspaper-report- 
er, who  was  either  tired,  or  indifferent,  or  sleepy.  They  talked 
about  some  current  topic  of  the  hour  for  a  few  luinutes;  and 
then  Mr.  O'Halloran,  with  a  yawn,  rose  and  said  he  must  go  home 
for  breakfast. 

"Stay  a  bit,  O'Halloran,"  Lord  Evelyn  said,  in  despair;  "I — I 
wanted — the  fact  is,  Mr.  Brand  has  been  asking  me  about  Ferdi- 
nand Lind — " 

"  Oh,"  said  the  bushy-headed  man,  with  a  quick  glance  of  scru- 
tiny at  the  tall  Englishman.  "No,  no,"  he  added,  with  a  smile, 
addressing  himself  directly  to  Brand.     "  It  is  no  use  your  touch- 


PIONEERS.  39 

ing  anythinc^  of  that  kind.  You  would  want  to  know  too  much. 
You  would  want  to  have  the  cartli  dug  away  from  over  the  cata- 
combs before  you  went  below  to  follow  a  solitary  guide  with  a 
bit  of  candle.  You  could  never  be  brought  to  understand  that 
the  cardinal  principle  of  all  secret  societies  has  been  that  obedi- 
ence is  an  end  and  aim  in  itself,  and  faith  the  chiefest  of  all  the 
virtues.  You  wouldn't  take  anything  on  trust ;  you  have  the 
pure  English  temperament." 

Brand  laughed,  and  said  nothing.  But  O'llalloran  sat  down 
again,  and  began  to  talk  in  an  idle,  hap-hazard  sort  of  fashion  of 
the  various  secret  societies,  religious,  social,  political,  that  had  be- 
come known  to  the  world  ;  and  of  their  aims,  and  their  working, 
and  how  they  had  so  often  fallen  away  into  the  mere  preserva- 
tion of  mummeries,  or  declared  themselves  only  by  the  commis- 
sion of  useless  deeds  of  revenge. 

"Ah,"  said  Brand,  eagerly,  "  that  is  precisely  what  I  have  been 
urging  on  Lord  Evelyn.  How  can  you  know,  in  joining  such  an 
association,  that  you  are  not  becoming  the  accomplices  of  men 
who  are  merely  planning  assassination  ?  And  what  good  can 
come  of  that?  IIow  are  you  likely  to  gain  anything  by  the  dag- 
ger ?  The  great  social  and  political  changes  of  the  world  come 
in  tides ;  you  can  neither  retard  them  nor  help  them  by  sticking 
pins  in  the  sand." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure,"  said  the  other,  doubtfully.  "  A  little 
wholesome  terrorism  has  sometimes  played  its  part.  The  1868 
amnesty  to  the  Poles  in  Siberia  was  not  so  long  after — not  more 
than  a  year  after,  I  think  —  that  little  business  of  Berezowski. 
Faith,  what  a  chance  that  man  had  !" 

"  Who  r 

"  Berezowski,"  said  he,  with  an  air  of  contemplation.  "The 
two  biggest  scoundrels  in  the  world  in  one  can-iage ;  and  ho  had 
two  shots  at  them.     Well,  well,  Orsini  succeeded  better." 

"  Succeeded  ?"  said  George  Brand.  "  Do  you  call  that  success  ? 
He  had  the  reward  that  he  richly  merited,  at  all  events." 

"  You  do  not  think  he  was  successful  ?"  he  said,  calmly.  "  Then 
you  do  not  know  how  the  kingdom  of  Italy  came  by  its  liberty. 
Who  do  you  think  was  the  founder  of  that  kingdom  of  Italy  ? — 
which  God  preserve  till  it  become  something  better  than  a  king- 
dom !  Not  Cavour,  with  all  his  wiliness ;  not  your  Galantuomo, 
the  warrior  who  wrote  up  Aspromonte  in  the  face  of  all  the  world 


40  SUNRISE. 

as  the  synonyme  for  the  gratitude  of  kings;  not  Garibaldi,  who, 
in  spite  of  Asproraonte,  has  become  now  merely  the  concierge  to 
the  House  of  Savoy.  The  founder  of  the  kingdom  of  Italy  was 
Felix  Orsini — and  whether  heaven  or  hell  contains  him,  I  drink 
his  health !" 

He  suited  the  action  to  the  word.  Brand  looked  on,  not  mucli 
impressed. 

"That  is  all  nonsense,  O'Halloran  !"  Lord  Evelyn  said,  bluntly. 

"  I  tell  you,"  O'Halloran  said,  with  some  vehemence,  "  that  the 
14th  of  January,  1858,  kept  Louis  Napoleon  in  such  a  state  of 
tremor,  that  he  would  have  done  a  good  deal  more  than  lend  his 
army  to  Sardinia  to  sweep  the  Austrians  out  rather  than  abandon 
himself  to  the  fate  that  Cavour  plainly  and  distinctly  indicated. 
But  for  the  threat  of  another  dose  of  Orsini  pills,  do  you  think 
you  would  ever  have  heard  of  Magenta  and  Solferino  ?" 

He  seemed  to  rouse  himself  a  bit  now. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  do  not  approve  of  assassination  as  a  politi- 
cal weapon.  It  seldom  answers.  But  it  has  always  been  the  pol- 
icy of  absolute  governments,  and  of  their  allies  the  priests  and 
the  police,  to  attribute  any  murders  that  might  occur  to  tlie  se- 
cret societies,  and  so  to  terrify  stupid  people.  It  is  one  of  the 
commonest  slanders  in  history.  Why,  everybody  knows  how 
Fouche  humbugged  the  First  Napoleon,  and  got  up  vague  plots 
to  prove  that  he,  and  he  alone,  knew  what  was  going  on.  When 
Karl  Sand  killed  Kotzebue — oh,  of  course,  that  was  a  fine  excuse 
for  the  German  kings  and  princes  to  have  another  raid  against 
free  speech,  though  Sand  declared  he  had  nothing  in  the  world 
to  do  with  either  the  Tugendbund  or  any  such  society.  Who 
now  believes  that  Young  Italy  killed  Count  Rossi?  Rossi  was 
murdered  by  the  agents  of  the  clericals ;  it  was  distinctly  proved. 
But  any  stick  is  good  enough  to  beat  a  dog  with.  No  matter 
what  the  slander  is,  so  long  as  you  can  get  up  a  charge,  either 
for  the  imprisoning  of  a  dangerous  enemy  or  for  terrifying 
the  public  mind.  You  yourself,  Mr.  Brand — I  can  see  that  your 
only  notion  of  the  innumerable  secret  societies  now  in  Europe  is 
that  they  will  probably  assassinate  people.  That's  what  they  said 
about  the  Carbonari  too.  The  objects  of  the  Carbonari  were 
plain  as  plain  could  be ;  but  no  sooner  had  General  Pepe  kicked 
out  Ferdinand  and  put  in  a  constitutional  monarch,  than  Austria 
must  needs  attribute  every  murder  tliat  was  committed  to  those 


PIONEERS.  41 

detestable  Carbonari,  so  that  she  should  call  upon  Prussia  and 
Russia  to  join  her  in  strangling  the  infant  liberties  of  Europe. 
You  see,  we  can't  get  at  those  Royal  slanderers.  We  can  get  at 
a  man  like  Sir  James  Graham,  when  we  force  him  to  apologize 
in  the  House  of  Commons  for  having  said  that  Mazzini  instigated 
the  assassination  of  the  spies  Kmiliani  and  Lazzareschi." 

"But,  good  heavens!"  exclaimed  Brand,  "does  anybody  doubt 
that  that  was  a  political  double  murder? 

O'llalloran  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  smiled. 

"  You  may  call  it  murder  if  you  like ;  others  might  call  it  a 
fitting  punishment.  But  all  I  was  asking  you  to  do  was  to  re- 
move from  your  mind  that  bugbear  that  the  autocratic  govern- 
ments of  Europe  have  created  for  their  own  uses.  No  secret  so- 
ciety— if  you  except  those  Nihilists,  who  appear  to  have  gone 
mad  altogether — I  say,  no  secret  society  of  the  present  day  rec- 
ognizes political  assassination  as  a  normal  or  desirable  weapon ; 
though  it  may  have  to  be  resorted  to  in  extreme  cases.  You,  as 
an  individual,  might,  in  certain  circumstances,  lawfully  kill  a 
man  ;  but  that  is  neither  the  custom,  nor  the  object,  nor  the  chief 
thought  of  your  life." 

"And  are  there  many  of  these  societies  ?"  Brand  askeu. 

O'llalloran  had  carelessly  lit  himself  another  pipe. 

"  Europe  is  honey-combed  with  them.  They  are  growing  in 
secret  as  rapidly  as  some  kindred  societies  are  growing  in  the 
open.  Look  at  the  German  socialists — in  1871  they  polled  only 
120,000  votes;  in  1874  they  polled  340,000:  I  imagine  that 
Herr  Fiirst  von  Bismarck  will  find  some  difiiculty  in  suppressing 
that  Frankenstein  monster  he  coquetted  so  long  with.  Then  the 
Knights  of  Labor  in  America :  you  will  hear  something  of  them 
by-and-by,  or  I  am  mistaken.  In  secret  and  in  the  open  alike 
there  is  a  vast  power  growing  and  growing,  increasing  in  volume 
and  bulk  from  hour  to  hour,  from  year  to  year ;  God  only  knows 
in  what  fashion  it  will  reveal  itself.  But  you  may  depend  on  it 
that  when  the  spark  docs  spring  out  of  the  cloud — when  the 
clearance  of  the  atmosphere  is  due  —  people  will  look  back  on 
1688,  and  1798,  and  1848  as  mere  playthings.  The  Great  Rev- 
olution is  still  to  come ;  it  may  be  nearer  than  some  imagine." 

lie  had  grown  more  earnest,  both  in  his  manner  and  his 
speech. 

"Well,"    George   Brand   said,  "timid   people    may   reassure 


42  SUNRISE. 

themselves.  Where  there  are  so  many  societies,  there  will  be  as 
many  different  aims.  Some,  like  the  wilder  German  socialists, 
will  want  a  general  participation  of  property ;  others  a  demoli- 
tion of  the  churches  and  crucifixion  of  the  priests ;  others  the 
establishment  of  a  Universal  Republic.  There  may  be  a  great 
deal  of  powder  stored  up,  but  it  will  all  go  off  in  different  direc- 
tions, in  little  fireworks." 

A  quick  light  gleamed  in  those  deep-set,  lion-like  eyes. 

"  Very  well  said !"  was  the  scornful  comment.  "  The  Czar 
himself  could  not  have  expressed  his  belief,  or  at  least  his  hope, 
more  neatly.  But  let  me  tell  you,  sir,  that  the  masses  of  man- 
kind are  not  such  hopeless  idiots  as  are  some  of  the  feather-head- 
ed orators  and  writers  who  speak  for  them ;  and  that  you  will 
appeal  to  them  in  vain  if  you  do  not  appeal  to  their  sense  of 
justice,  and  their  belief  in  right,  and  in  the  eternal  laws  of  God. 
You  may  have  a  particular  crowd  go  mad,  or  a  particular  city  go 
mad ;  but  the  heart  of  the  people  beats  true,  and  if  you  desire  a 
great  political  change,  you  must  appeal  to  their  love  of  fair  and 
honest  dealing  as  between  man  and  man.  And  even  if  the  aims 
of  these  societies  are  diverse,  what  then  ?  What  would  you 
think,  now,  if  it  were  possible  to  construct  a  common  platform, 
where  certain  aims  at  least  could  be  accepted  by  all,  and  become 
bonds  to  unite  those  who  are  hoping  for  better  things  all  over 
the  earth?  That  did  not  occur  to  you  as  a  possible  thing,  per- 
haps? You  have  only  studied  the  ways  of  kings  and  govern- 
ments— each  one  for  itself.  *  Come  over  my  boundary,  and  I 
will  cleave  your  head;  or,  rather,  I  will  send  my  common  people 
to  do  it,  for  a  little  blood-letting  from  time  to  time  is  good  for 
that  vile  and  ignorant  body.'  But  the  vile  and  ignorant  body 
may  begin  to  tire  of  that  recurrent  blood-letting,  and  might  per- 
haps even  say, '  Brother  across  the  boundary,  I  have  no  quarrel 
with  you.  You  are  poor  and  ignorant,  like  myself;  the  travail 
of  the  earth  lies  hard  on  you ;  I  would  rather  give  you  my  hand. 
If  I  have  any  quarrel,  surely  it  is  with  the  tyrants  of  the  earth, 
who  have  kept  both  you  and  me  enslaved ;  who  have  taken  away 
our  children  from  us ;  who  have  left  us  scarcely  bread.  How 
long,  O  Lord,  how  long?  We  are  tired  of  the  reign  of  Caesar; 
we  are  beaten  down  with  it ;  who  will  help  us  now  to  establish 
the  reign  of  Christ  V  " 

He  rose.     Despite  the  unkempt  hair,  this  man  looked  quite 


BON    VOYAGE !  43 

handsome  now,  while  this  serious  look  was  in  his  face.  Brand 
began  to  perceive  whence  his  friend  Evelyn  liad  derived  at  least 
some  of  his  inspiration. 

"  Meanwhile,"  O'llalloran  said,  with  a  light,  scornful  laugh, 
'' Christianity  has  been  of  excellent  service  to  Caesar;  it  has  been 
the  big  policeman  of  Europe.  Do  you  think  these  poor  wretches 
would  have  been  so  patient  if  they  had  not  believed  there  was 
some  compensation  reserved  for  them  beyond  the  grave  ?  They 
would  have  had  Caisar  by  the  throat  by  this  time." 

"Then  that  scheme  of  co-operation  you  mentioned,"  Brand 
said,  somewhat  hastily — for  he  saw  that  O'llalloran  was  about  to 
leave — "  that  is  what  Ferdinand  Lind  is  working  at  ?" 

The  other  started. 

"I  cannot  give  you  any  information  on  that  point,"  said 
O'llalloran,  gravely.  "And  I  do  not  think  you  are  likely  to  get 
much  anywhere  if  you  are  only  moved  by  curiosity,  however 
sympathetic  and  well-wishing." 

lie  took  up  his  hat  and  stick. 

"Good-bye,  Mr.  Brand,"  said  he;  and  he  looked  at  him  with 
a  kindly  look.  "As  far  as  I  can  judge,  you  are  now  in  the  posi- 
tion of  a  man  at  a  partly  opened  door,  half  afraid  to  enter,  and 
too  curious  to  draw  back.  Well,  my  advice  to  you  is — Draw 
back.  Or  at  least  remember  this :  that  before  you  enter  that 
room  you  must  be  without  doubt — and  without  fearP 


CHAPTER  YI. 


DON    VOYAGE ! 


Fear  he  had  none.  His  life  was  not  so  valuable  to  him  that 
he  would  have  hesitated  about  throwing  himself  into  any  forlorn- 
hope,  provided  that  he  was  satisfied  of  the  justice  of  the  cause. 
He  had  dabbled  a  little  in  philosophy,  and  not  only  believed  that 
the  ordinary  altruistic  instincts  of  mankind  could  be  traced  to  a 
purely  utilitarian  origin,  but  also  that,  on  the  same  theory,  the 
highest  form  of  personal  gratification  might  be  found  in  the  se- 
verest form  of  self-sacrifice.  He  did  not  pity  a  martyr ;  he  en- 
vied him.  But  before  the  martyr's  joy  must  come  the  martyr's 
faith.     Without  that  enthusiastic  belief  in  the  necessity  and  no- 


44  SUNRISE. 

bleness  and  value  of  the  sacrifice,  what  could  there  be  but  physi- 
cal pain  and  the  despair  of  a  useless  death  ? 

But,  if  he  had  no  fear,  he  had  a  superabundance  of  doubt.  He 
had  not  at  all  the  pliable,  receptive,  imaginative  nature  of  liis 
friend.  Lord  Evelyn.  He  had  more  than  the  ordinary  English- 
man's distrust  of  secrecy.  He  was  not  to  be  won  over  by  the 
visions  of  a  St.  Simon,  the  eloquence  of  a  Fourier,  the  epigrams 
of  a  Proudhon  :  these  were  to  him  but  intellectual  playthings,  of 
no  practical  value.  It  was,  doubtless,  a  novelty  for  a  young  man 
brought  up  as  Lord  Evelyn  had  been  to  associate  with  a  gin- 
drinking  Trish  reporter,  and  to  regard  him  as  the  mysterious  apos- 
tle of  a  new  creed ;  Brand  only  saw  in  O'Halloran  a  light-headed, 
imaginative,  talkative  person,  as  safe  to  trust  to  for  guidance  as  a 
will-o'-the-wisp.  It  is  true  that  for  the  time  being  he  had  been 
thrilled  by  the  passionate  fervor  of  Natalie  Lind's  singing ;  and 
many  a  time  since  he  could  have  fancied  that  he  heard  in  the 
stillness  of  the  night  that  pathetic  and  vibrating  appeal — 

"  When,  when  will  the  Lord  cry, '  Revenge,  it  is  mine  ?'  " 

But  he  dissociated  her  from  her  father's  schemes  altogether.  No 
doubt  she  was  moved  by  the  generous  enthusiasm  of  a  young  girl. 
She  had  a  warm,  human,  sympathetic  heart;  the  cry  of  the  poor 
and  the  suffering  appealed  to  her ;  and  she  was  confident  in  the 
success  of  projects  of  which  she  had  been  prudently  kept  igno- 
rant. This  was  George  Brand's  reading.  He  would  not  have 
Natalie  Lind  associated  with  Leicester  Square  and  a  lot  of  garlic- 
eating  revolutionaries. 

"  But  who  is  this  man  Lind  ?"  he  asked,  impatiently,  of  Lord 
Evelyn.  He  had  driven  up  to  his  friend's  house  in  Clarges  Street, 
had  had  luncheon  with  him,  and  they  were  now  smoking  a  cig- 
arette in  the  library. 

"  You  mean  his  nationality  ?"  said  his  friend,  laughing.  "  That 
has  puzzled  me,  too.  He  seems,  at  all  events,  to  have  had  his 
finger  in  a  good  many  pies.  He  escaped  into  Turkey  with  Bern, 
I  know ;  and  he  has  been  imprisoned  in  Russia ;  and  once  or 
twice  I  have  heard  him  refer  to  the  amnesty  that  was  proclaimed 
when  Louis  Napoleon  was  presented  with  an  heir.  But  whether 
he  is  Pole,  or  Jew,  or  Slav,  there  is  no  doubt  about  his  daughter 
being  a  thorough  Hungarian." 

"  Not  the  least,"  said  Brand,  with  decision.     "  I  have  seen  lots 


BON    VOYAGE !  45 

of  women  of  tLat  type  in  Pcsth,  and  in  Vienna,  too  :  if  you  are 
walking  in  the  Prater  you  can  always  tell  the  Hungarian  wom- 
en as  they  drive  past.  But  you  rarely  see  one  as  beautiful  as 
she  is." 

After  awhile  Lord  Evelyn  said, 

"This  is  Natalie's  birthday.  By-and-by  I  am  going  along  to 
Bond  Street  to  buy  some  little  thitig  for  her." 

"Then  she  allows  you  to  make  her  presents?"  Brand  said, 
somewhat  coldly. 

"  She  and  I  are  like  brother  and  sister  now,"  said  the  pale,  de- 
formed lad,  without  hesitation.  "  If  I  were  ill,  I  think  she  would 
be  glad  to  come  and  look  after  me." 

"  You  have  already  plenty  of  sisters  who  would  do  that." 

"  By-the-way,  they  are  coming  to  town  next  week  with  my 
mother.  You  must  come  and  dine  with  us  some  night,  if  you 
are  not  afraid  to  face  the  chatter  of  such  a  lot  of  girls." 

"  Have  they  seen  Miss  Lind  ?" 

*'  No,  not  yet." 

"And  how  will  you  explain  your  latest  craze  to  them,  Evelyn? 
They  are  very  nice  girls  indeed,  you  know  ;  but — but — when  they 
set  full  cry  on  you —  I  suppose  some  day  I  shall  have  to  send 
them  a  copy  of  a  newspaper  from  abroad,  with  this  kind  of  thing 
in  it :  '  Compeared  yesterday  before  the  Correctional  Tribunal^ 
Ernest  Francis  D'' Agincourt,  Baron  Evelyn^  charged  with  having 
in  his  possession  tivo  canisters  of  an  explosive  compound  and  four- 
teen empty  missiles.  Further,  among  the  correspondence  of  the  ac- 
cused was  found — '  " 

"  ^A  letter  from  an  Englishman  named  Brand,'' "  continued 
Lord  Evelyn,  as  he  rose  and  went  to  the  window, ''^  ^  apparently 
written  under  the  influence  of  nightmare.^  Come,  Brand,  I  see 
the  carriage  is  below.    Will  you  drive  with  me  to  the  jeweller's?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  his  friend ;  and  at  this  moment  the  carriage 
was  announced.  "  I  suppose  it  wouldn't  do  for  me  to  buy  the 
thing  ?  You  know  I  have  more  money  to  spend  on  trinkets  than 
you  have." 

They  were  very  intimate  friends  indeed.  Lord  Evelyn  only 
said,  with  a  smile, 

"  I  am  afraid  Natalie  wouldn't  like  it." 

But  this  choosing  of  a  birthday  present  was  a  terrible  business. 
The  jeweller  was  as  other  jewellers ;   his  designs  were  mostly 


46  SUNRISE. 

limited  to  the  representation  of  two  objects — a  butterfly  for  a 
woman,  and  a  liorseshoe  for  a  man.  At  last  Brand,  who  had 
been  walking  about  from  time  to  time,  espied,  in  a  distant  case, 
an  object  which  instantly  attracted  his  attention.  It  was  a  flat 
piece  of  wood  or  board,  covered  with  blue  velvet ;  and  on  this 
had  been  twined  an  unknown  number  of  yards  of  the  beautiful 
thread-like  gold  chain  common  to  the  jewellers'  shop-windows  in 
Venice. 

"  Here  you  are,  Evelyn,"  Brand  said  at^  once.  "  Why  not  buy 
a  lot  of  this  thin  chain,  and  let  her  make  it  into  any  sort  of  dec- 
oration that  she  chooses?" 

"  It  is  an  ignominious  way  out  of  the  difficulty,"  said  the  other: 
but  he  consented ;  and  yard  after  yard  of  the  thread-like  chain 
was  unrolled.  When  allowed  to  drop  together,  it  seemed  to  go 
into  no  compass  at  all. 

They  went  outside. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  now,  Brand?" 

The  other  was  looking  cheerless  enouo'h. 

"  I  ?"  he  said,  with  the  slightest  possible  shrug.  "  I  suppose  I 
must  go  down  to  the  club,  and  yawn  away  the  time  till  dinner." 

"  Then  why  not  come  with  me  ?  I  have  a  commission  or  two 
from  my  sisters — one  as  far  out  as  Notting  Hill ;  but  after  that 
we  can  drive  back  through  the  Park  and  call  on  the  Linds.  I 
dare  say  Lind  will  be  home  by  that  time." 

Lord  Evelyn's  friend  was  more  than  delighted.  As  they  drove 
from  place  to  place  he  was  a  good  deal  more  talkative  than  was 
his  wont ;  and,  among  other  things,  confessed  his  belief  that  Fer- 
dinand Lind  seemed  much  too  hard-headed  a  man  to  be  enfrajied 
in  mere  visionary  enterprises.  But  somehow  the  conversation 
generally  came  round  to  Mr.  Lind's  daughter;  and  Brand  seemed 
very  anxious  to  find  out  to  what  degree  she  was  cognizant  of  her 
father's  schemes.     On  this  point  Lord  Evelyn  knew  nothing. 

At  last  they  arrived  at  the  house  in  Curzon  Street,  and  found 
Mr.  Lind  just  on  the  point  of  entering.  He  stayed  to  receive 
them ;  went  up-stairs  with  them  to  the  drawing-room,  and  then 
begged  them  to  excuse  him  for  a  few  minutes.  Presently  Nata- 
lie Lind  appeared. 

How  this  man  envied  his  friend  Evelyn  the  frank,  sister-like 
way  in  which  she  took  the  little  present,  and  thanked  him  for 
that  and  his  kind  wishes ! 


BON    VOYAGE !  47 

"  Ah,  do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  what  a  strange  birthday  gift 
I  liad  given  me  this  morning?     Sec  !" 

Slie  brought  over  the  old-fasliioned  silver  locket,  and  told  them 
the  whole  story. 

"  Is  it  not  stranjre  ?"  she  said.  "  ''From  Natalie  to  Natalushka :'' 
that  is,  from  myself  to  myself.     What  can  it  mean  ?" 

"  Have  you  not  asked  your  father,  then,  about  his  mysterious 
messenger?''  Brand  said.  He  was  always  glad  to  ask  this  girl  a 
question,  for  she  looked  him  so  straight  in  the  face  with  her  soft, 
dark  eyes,  as  she  answered. 

"  He  has  only  now  come  home.     I  will  directly." 

"But  why  does  your  father  call  you  Natalushka,  Natalie?" 
asked  Lord  Evelyn. 

There  was  the  slightest  blush  on  the  pale,  clear  face. 

"  It  was  a  nickname  they  gave  me,  I  am  told,  when  I  was  a 
child.     They  used  to  make  me  angry." 

"And  now,  if  one  were  to  call  you  Natalushka?" 

"  My  anger  would  be  too  terrible,"  she  said,  with  a  smile. 
"  Papa  alone  dares  to  do  that." 

Presently  her  father  came  into  the  room. 

"  Oh,  papa,"  said  she,  "  I  have  discovered  who  the  lady  is  whom 
you  got  to  bring  me  the  flowers.  And  see !  she  has  given  me 
this  strange  little  locket.  Look  at  the  inscription — ''From  Nata- 
lie to  Natalushka.''  " 

Lind  only  glanced  at  the  locket.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
girl. 

"  Where  did  you  see  the — the  lady  ?"  he  asked,  coldly. 

"  In  the  Park.  But  she  did  not  stay  a  moment,  or  speak  ;  she 
hurried  on,  and  Anncli  thouo'ht  she  was  crvinQ^.  I  almost  think 
so  too.  Who  was  it,  papa  ?  May  I  speak  to  her,  if  I  see  her 
again  ?" 

Mr.  Lind  turned  aside  for  a  moment.  Brand,  who  was  nar- 
rowly watching  him,  was  convinced  that  the  man  was  in  a  pas- 
sion of  rage.     But  when  he  turned  again  he  was  outwardly  Ciilm. 

"  You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  Natalie,"  he  said,  in  meas- 
ured tones.  "I  have  warned  you  before  against  making  indis- 
criminate acquaintances  ;  and  Anncli,  if  she  is  constantly  getting 
such  stupidities  into  her  head,  must  be  sent  about  her  business. 
I  do  not  wish  to  hear  anything  more  about  it.  Will  you  ring 
and  ask  why  tea  has  not  been  sent  up  ?" 


48  SUNRISE. 

The  girl  silently  obeyed.  Her  father  had  never  spoten  to  her 
in  this  cold,  austere  tone  before.  She  sat  down  at  a  small  table, 
apart. 

Mr.  Lind  talked  for  a  minute  or  two  with  his  guests ;  then  he 
said, 

"  Natalie,  you  have  the  zither  there  ;  why  do  you  not  play  us 
something  T' 

She  turned  to  the  small  instrument,  and,  after  a  second  or  two, 
played  a  few  notes  :  that  was  all.  She  rose  and  said,  "  I  don't 
think  I  can  play  this  afternoon,  papa ;"  and  then  she  left  the 
room. 

Mr.  Lind  pretended  to  converse  with  his  guests  as  before  ;  and 
tea  came  in ;  bat  presently  he  begged  to  be  excused  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  left  the  room.  George  Brand  rose,  and  took  a  turn  or 
two  up  and  down. 

"  It  would  take  very  little,"  he  muttered — for  his  teeth  were 
set — "  to  make  me  throw  that  fellow  out  of  the  window  !" 

"  ^Yhat  do  you  mean  V  Lord  Evelyn  said,  in  great  surprise. 

"  Didn't  you  see  ?  She  left  the  room  to  keep  from  crying. 
That  miserable  Polish  cutthroat  —  I  should  like  to  kick  him 
down-stairs !" 

But  at  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  father  and  daughter 
entered,  arm-in-arm.  Natalie's  face  was  a  little  bit  flushed,  but 
she  was  very  gentle  and  affectionate ;  they  had  made  up  that 
brief  misunderstanding,  obviously.  And  she  had  brought  in  her 
hand  a  mob-cap  of  black  satin  :  would  Lord  Evelyn  allow  her  to 
try  the  effect  of  twisting  those  beautiful  golden  threads  through  it  ? 

"  Natalushka,"  said  her  father,  with  great  good-humor,  "  it  is 
your  birthday.  Do  you  think  you  could  persuade  Lord  Evelyn 
and  Mr.  Brand  to  come  to  your  dinner-party  ?" 

It  was  then  explained  to  the  two  gentlemen  that  on  this  great 
anniversary  it  was  the  custom  of  Mr.  Lind,  when  in  London,  to 
take  his  daughter  to  dine  at  some  French  or  Italian  restaurant  in 
Regent  Street  or  thereabouts.  In  fact,  she  liked  to  play  at  being 
abroad  for  an  hour  or  two  ;  to  see  around  her  foreign  faces,  and 
hear  foreign  tongues. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  say  that  it  is  very  easy  to  remind  your- 
self of  the  Continent,"  said  Mr.  Lind,  smiling — "  that  you  have 
only  to  go  to  a  place  where  they  give  you  oily  food  and  bad 
wine." 


nON    VOYAGE !  49 

"On  tlie  contrary,"  said  Brand,  "I  should  think  it  very  diffi- 
cult in  London  to  imagine  yourself  in  a  foreign  town  ;  for 
London  is  drained.  However,  I  accept  the  invitation  with 
pleasure." 

"And  I,"  said  Lord  Evelyn.  "Now,  must  we  be  off  to 
dress  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Xatalic,  "  Do  you  not  understand  that  you 
are  abroad,  and  walking  into  a  restaurant  to  dine?  And  now  I 
will  play  you  a  little  invitation — not  to  dinner;  for  you  must 
sup[)ose  you  have  dined — and  you  come  out  on  the  stairs  of  the 
hotel,  and  step  into  the  black  gondola." 

She  went  along  to  the  small  table,  and  sat  down  to  the  zither. 
There  were  a  few  notes  of  prelude ;  and  then  they  heard  the 
beautiful  low  voice  added  to  the  soft  tinkling  sounds.  What  did 
they  vaguely  make  out  from  that  melodious  murmur  of  Italian  ? 

Behold  the  beautiful  night — the  wind  sleeps  drowsily — the  silent  shores 
slumber  in  the  dark : 

"  Sul  placido  elemento 
Vien  meco  a  navigar !" 

The  soft  wind  moves — as  it  stirs  among  the  leaves — it  moves  and  dies — 
among  the  murmur  of  the  water : 

"  Lascia  I'amico  tetto 
Vien  meco  a  navigar  !" 

Now  on  the  spacious  mantle — of  the  already  darkening  heavens — see,  oh 
the  shining  wonder — how  the  white  stars  tremble : 

"  Ai  raggi  della  luna 
Vien  meco  a  navigar !" 

Where  were  they?  Surely  they  have  passed  out  from  the 
darkness  of  the  narrow  canal,  and  are  away  on  the  broad  bosom 
of  the  lagoon.  The  Place  of  St.  Mark  is  all  aglow  with  its  gold- 
en points  of  fire ;  the  yellow  radiance  spreads  out  into  the  night. 
And  that  other  wandering  mass  of  gold — the  gondola  hung  round 
with  lamps,  and  followed  by  a  dark  procession  through  the  si- 
lence of  the  waters — does  not  the  music  come  from  thence  ? 
Listen,  now : 

"  Sul  Vonde  addormentate 
Vien  meco  a  navigar !" 


50  SUNRISE. 


Can  they  hear  the  distant  chorus,  in  there  at  the  shore  Avhere 
the  people  are  walking  about  in  the  golden  glare  of  the  lamps? 

"  Vien  meco  a  navigar ! 
Yien  meco  a  navigar !" 

Or  can  some  faint  echo  be  carried  away  out  to  yonder  island, 
where  the  pale  blue-white  radiance  of  the  moonlight  is  beginning 
to  touch  the  tall  dome  of  San  Giorgio  ? 

" —  a  navigar! 
—  a  navigar !" 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Lord  Evelyn,  when  the  girl  rose,  with 
a  smile  on  her  face,  "  that  you  do  not  need  to  go  into  Regent 
Street  when  you  want  to  imagine  yourself  abroad." 

Natalie  looked  at  her  watch. 

"  If  you  will  excuse  me,  I  will  go  and  get  ready  now." 

Well,  they  went  to  the  big  foreign  restaurant ;  and  had  a  small 
table  all  to  themselves,  in  the  midst  of  the  glare,  and  the  heat, 
and  the  indiscriminate  Babel  of  tongues.  And,  under  the  guid- 
ance of  Mr.  Brand,  they  adventured  upon  numerous  aiiicles  of 
food  which  were  more  varied  in  their  names  than  in  their  flavor ; 
and  they  tasted  some  of  the  compounds,  reeking  of  iris-root,  that 
the  Neapolitans  call  wine,  until  they  fell  back  on  a  flask  of  Chi- 
anti,  and  were  content ;  and  they  regarded  their  neighbors,  and 
were  regarded  in  turn.  In  the  midst  of  it  all,  Mr.  Lind,  who  had 
been  somewhat  preoccupied,  said  suddenly, 

"  Natalie,  can  you  start  with  me  for  Leipsic  to-morrow  after- 
noon ?" 

She  was  as  prompt  as  a  soldier. 

"  Yes,  papa.     Shall  I  take  Anneli  or  not  ?" 

"  You  may  if  you  like." 

After  that  George  Brand  seemed  to  take  very  little  interest  in 
this  heterogeneous  banquet ;  he  stared  absently  at  the  foreign- 
looking  people,  at  the  hurrying  waiters,  at  the  stout  lady  behind 
the  bar.  Even  when  Mr.  Lind  told  his  daughter  that  her  black 
satin  mob-cap,  with  its  wonderful  intertwistings  of  Venetian  chain, 
looked  very  striking  in  a  mirror  opposite,  and  when  Lord  Evelyn 
eagerly  gave  his  friend  the  credit  of  having  selected  that  birth- 
day gift,  he  did  not  seem  to  pay  much  heed.  When,  after  all 
was  over,  and  he  had  wished  Natalie  '''Bon  voyage''''  at  the  door 
of  the  brougham,  Lord  Evelyn  said  to  him, 


IN    SOLITUDE.  51 

"  Come  along  to  Clarges  Street  now  and  smoke  a  cigar." 

"No,  thanks!"  he  said.  "I  think  I  will  stroll  duwn  to  my 
rooms  now." 

"  ^Vh;a  is  the  matter  with  you,  Brand?  You  have  been  look- 
ing very  glum." 

"  Well,  I  have  been  thinking  that  London  is  a  depressing  sort 
of  place  for  a  man  to  live  in  who  does  not  know  many  people. 
It  is  very  big,  and  very  empty.  I  don't  think  I  shall  be  able  to 
stand  it  nmch  longer." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IN    SOLITUDE. 

A  BLUSTERING,  cold  moming  in  March  ;  the  skies  lowering, 
the  wind  increasing,  and  heavy  showers  being  driven  up  from 
time  to  time  from  the  black  and  threatening  south-west.  This 
was  stranse  weather  to  make  a  man  think  of  going  to  the  sea- 

o  or? 

side;  and  of  all  places  at  the  sea-side,  to  Dover;  and  of  all  places 
in  Dover,  to  the  Lord  Warden  Hotel,  which  was  sure  to  be  filled 
with  fear-stricken  foreigners,  waiting  for  the  sea  to  calm.  Wa- 
ters, as  he  packed  the  small  portmanteau,  could  not  at  all  under- 
stand this  freak  on  the  part  of  his  master. 

"  If  Lord  Evelyn  calls,  sir,"  he  said  at  the  station^  "  w  hen  shall 
I  say  you  will  be  back?" 

"  In  a  few  days,  perhaps.     I  don't  know." 

He  had  a  compartment  to  himself;  and  away  the  train  went 
through  the  wet  and  dismal  and  foggy  country,  with  the  rain 
pouring  down  the  panes  of  the  carriage.  The  dismal  prospect 
outside,  however,  did  not  matter  much  to  this  solitary  traveller. 
He  turned  his  back  to  the  window,  and  read  all  the  way  down. 

At  Dover  the  outlook  was  still  more  dismal.  A  dirty,  yellow- 
brown  sea  was  rolling  heavily  in,  springing  white  along  the  Ad- 
miralty Pier ;  gusts  of  rain  were  sweeping  along  the  thoroughfare 
between  the  station  and  the  hotel ;  in  the  hotel  itself  the  rooms 
were  occupied  by  a  miscellaneous  collection  of  dissatisfied  folk, 
who  aimlessly  read  the  advertisements  in  Bradshaw,  or  stared 
through  the  dri[)ping  windows  at  the  yellow  waves  outside.  This 
was  the  condition  of  aifairs  when  George  Brand  took  up  his  resi- 


52  SUNRISE, 

dcnce  tlicrc.  lie  was  quite  alone ;  but  be  bad  a  sufficiency  of 
books  witb  bim  ;  and  so  deeply  engaged  was  be  witb  tliese,  tbat 
be  let  tbe  ordinary  coffee-room  discussions  about  tbe  weatber  pass 
absolutely  unbeeded. 

On  tbe  second  morning  a  number  of  tbe  travellers  plucked  up 
beart  of  grace  and  embarked,  tbough  tbe  weatber  was  still  squally. 
George  Brand  was  not  in  tlie  least  interested  as  to  tbe  specula- 
tions of  tbose  wbo  remained  about  tbe  possibilities  of  tbe  pass- 
age. He  drew  bis  cbair  toward  tbe  fire,  and  relapsed  into  bis 
reading. 

Tbis  day,  bowever,  was  varied  by  bis  making  tbe  acquaintance 
of  a  little  old  Frencb  lady,  wbicli  be  did  by  means  of  ber  two 
granddaugbters,  Josepbine  and  Veronique.  Veronique,  baving 
been  pusbed  by  Josepbine,  stumbled  against  Mr,  Brand's  knee, 
and  would  inevitably  bave  fallen  into  tbe  fireplace  bad  be  not 
caugbt  ber.  Tbereupon  tbe  little  old  lady,  burrying  across  tbe 
room,  and  looking  very  mucb  inclined  to  box  tbe  ears  of  botb 
Josepbine  and  Veronique,  most  profusely  apologized,  in  Frencb, 
to  monsieur.  Monsieur,  replying  in  tbat  tongue,  said  it  was  of 
no  consequence  wbatever,  Tben  madame,  greatly  deligbted  at 
finding  some  one,  not  a  waiter,  to  wbom  sbe  could  speak  in  ber 
own  language,  continued  tbe  conversation,  and  veiy  speedily  made 
monsieur  tbe  confidant  of  all  ber  bopes  and  fears  about  tbat  ter- 
rible business  tbe  Cbannel  passage.  No  doubt  monsieur  was  also 
waiting  for  tbis  dreadful  storm  to  abate  ? 

Monsieur  quickly  perceived  tbat  so  long  as  tbis  voluble  little 
old  lady — wbo  was  as  yellow  as  a  frog,  and  bad  beady  black  eyes, 
but  wbose  manner  was  exceedingly  cbarraing — cbose  to  attacb 
berself  to  bim,  bis  pursuit  of  knowledge  was  not  likely  to  be  at- 
tended with  mucb  success,  so  be  sbut  tbe  book  on  bis  finger, 
and  pleasantly  said  to  ber, 

"  Ob  no,  madame  ;  I  am  only  waiting  here  for  some  friends." 

Madame  was  greatly  alarmed  :  surely  they  would  not  cross  in 
such  frightful  weather?  Monsieur  ventured  to  think  it  was  not 
so  very  bad,  Tben  the  little  French  lady  glanced  out  at  tbe  win- 
dow, and  threw  up  ber  hands,  and  said  with  a  shudder, 

"  Frightful !  Truly  frightful !  What  should  I  do  with  tbose 
two  little  ones  ill,  and  myself  ill  ?  The  sea  might  sweep  them 
away !" 

Mr,  Brand,  baving  observed  something  of  tbe  manners  of  Jo- 


IN    SOLITUDE.  53 

sephinc  and  Veroniquc,  was  inwardly  of  opinion  that  the  sea 
might  be  worse  employed ;  but  what  he  said  was — 

"  You  could  take  a  deck-cabin,  madaine." 

Madame  aii'ain  shuddered. 

"Your  friends  are  English,  no  doubt,  monsieur;  llie  English 
are  not  so  much  afraid  of  storms." 

"No,  madaine,  they  arc  not  English  ;  but  I  do  not  think  they 
would  let  such  a  day  as  this,  for  example,  hinder  them.  They 
are  not  likely,  however,  to  be  on  their  way  back  for  a  day  or  two. 
To-morrow  I  may  run  over  to  Calais,  just  on  the  chance  of  cross- 
ing with  thein  again." 

Here  was  a  mad  Englishman,  to  be  sure !  When  people,  driven 
by  dire  necessity,  had  their  heart  in  their  mouth  at  the  very  no- 
tion of  encountering  that  rough  sea,  here  was  a  person  who  thouglit 
of  crossing  and  returning  for  no  reason  on  earth — a  trifling  com- 
pliment to  his  friends — a  pleasure  excursion — a  break  in  the  mo- 
notony of  the  day  ! 

"And  I  shall  be  pleased  to  look  after  the  little  ones,  madanie," 
said  he,  politely,  "  if  you  are  going  over." 

Madame  thanked  him  very  profusely  ;  but  assured  him  that  so 
long  as  the  weather  looked  so  stormy  she  could  not  think  of  in- 
trusting Josephine  and  Veronique  to  the  mercy  of  the  waves. 

Now,  if  George  Brand  had  little  liope  of  meeting  his  friends 
that  day,  he  acted  pretty  much  as  if  he  were  expecting  some  one. 
First  of  all,  he  had  secured  a  saloon-carriage  in  the  afternoon  mail- 
train  to  London — an  unnecessary  luxury  for  a  bachelor  well  ac- 
customed to  the  hardships  of  travel.  Then  he  had  managed  to 
procure  a  handsome  bouquet  of  freshly-cut  flowers.  Finally,  there 
was  some  mysterious  arrangement  by  which  fruit,  cakes,  tea,  and 
wine  were  to  be  ready  at  a  moment's  notice  in  the  event  of  that 
saloon-carriage  being  required. 

Then,  as  soon  as  the  rumor  went  through  the  liotel  that  the 
vessel  was  in  sight,  away  he  went  down  the  pier,  with  his  coat- 
collar  tightly  buttoned,  and  his  hat  jammed  down,  AVhat  a  toy- 
looking  thing  the  steamer  was,  away  out  there  in  the  mists  or  the 
rain,  with  the  brown  line  of  smoke  stretching  back  to  the  hori- 
zon !  She  was  tossing  and  rolling  a  good  deal  among  the  brown 
waves :  he  almost  hoped  his  friends  were  not  on  board.  And  he 
wished  that  all  the  more  when  he  at  length  saw  the  people  clam- 
ber up  the  gangway — a  miserable  procession  of  half-drowned  folk, 


54  SUNRISE. 

some  of  them  scarcely  able  to  walk.  No ;  his  friends  were  not 
there.     He  returned  to  the  hotel,  and  to  his  books. 

But  the  attentions  of  Josephine  and  Veronique  had  become 
too  pressing ;  so  he  retired  from  the  reading-room,  and  took  ref- 
uge in  his  own  room  uj)-stairs.  It  fronted  the  sea.  He  could 
hear  the  long,  monotonous,  continuous  wash  of  the  waves :  from 
time  to  time  the  windows  rattled  with  the  wind. 

lie  took  from  his  portmanteau  another  volume  from  that  he 
had  been  reading,  and  sat  down  by  the  window.  But  he  had 
only  read  a  line  or  two  when  he  turned  and  looked  absently  out 
on  the  sea.  Was  he  trying  to  recall,  amidst  all  that  confused  and 
murmuring  noise,  some  other  sound  that  seemed  to  haunt  him  ? 

"  Who  is  your  lady  of  love,  oh  ye  that  pass 
Singing?" 

Was  he  trying  to  recall  that  pathetic  thrill  in  his  friend  Eve- 
lyn's voice  which  he  knew  was  but  the  echo  of  another  voice? 
He  had  never  heard  Natalie  Lind  read  ;  but  he  knew  that  that 
was  how  she  had  read,  when  Evelyn's  sensitive  nature  had  heard 
and  been  permeated  by  the  strange  tremor.  And  now,  as  he 
opened  the  book  again,  whose  voice  was  it  he  seemed  to  hear,  in 
the  silence  of  the  small  room,  amidst  the  low  and  constant  mur- 
mur of  the  waves? 

"  — And  ye  shall  die  before  your  thrones  be  won. 
— Yea,  and  the  changed  world  and  the  liberal  sun 
Shall  move  and  shine  without  us,  and  we  lie 
Dead ;  but  if  she  too  move  on  earth  and  live — 
But  if  the  old  world,  with  all  the  old  irons  rent, 
Laugh  and  give  thanks,  shall  we  be  not  content  ? 
Nay,  we  shall  rather  live,  we  shall  not  die. 
Life  being  so  little,  and  death  so  good  to  give. 
****** 

— But  ye  that  might  be  clothed  with  all  things  pleasant. 
Ye  are  foolish  that  put  off  the  fair  soft  present, 
That  clothe  yourselves  with  the  cold  future  air ; 

When  mother  and  father,  and  tender  sister  and  brother, 
And  the  old  live  love  that  was  shall  be  as  ye, 
Dust,  and  no  fruit  of  loving  life  shall  be. 
— She  shall  be  yet  who  is  more  than  all  these  were. 
Than  sister  or  wife  or  father  unto  us  or  mother." 

He  turned  again  to  the  window,  to  the  driven  yellow  sea,  and 


IN    SOLITUDE.  55 

the  gusts  of  rain.  Surely  tliere  was  no  voice  to  be  heard  from 
other  and  fartlicr  sliores? 

" — Is  this  wortli  life,  is  this  to  win  for  wages? 
Lo,  the  dead  inoutiis  of  the  awfid  gray-Ki'owii  ages, 
The  venerable,  in  the  past  that  is  their  prison, 
In  the  outer  darkness,  in  the  unopening  grave, 
Laugh,  knowing  how  many  as  ye  now  say  have  said — 
How  many,  and  all  are  fallen,  are  fallen  and  dead  : 
Shall  ye  dead  rise,  and  these  dead  have  not  risen  ? 
— Not  we  but  she,  who  is  tender  and  swift  to  save. 

" — Are  j'C  not  weary,  and  faint  not  by  the  wa)'. 
Seeing  night  by  night  devoured  of  day  by  day. 
Seeing  hour  by  hour  consumed  in  sleepless  fire? 
Sleepless :  and  ye  too,  when  shall  ye  too  sleep  ? 
— We  are  weary  in  heart  and  head,  in  hands  and  feet, 
And  surely  more  than  all  things  sleep  were  sweet, 
Than  all  things  save  the  inexorable  desire 

AVhieh  whoso  knoweth  shall  neither  faint  nor  weep." 

He  rose,  and  walked  up  and  down  for  a  time.  What  would 
one  not  give  for  a  faith  like  that  ? 

"  — Is  this  so  sweet  that  one  were  fain  to  follow  ? 
Is  this  so  sure  where  all  men's  hopes  are  hollow. 
Even  this  your  dream,  that  by  much  triljulation 

Ye  shall  make  whole  flawed  hearts,  and  bowed  necks  straight  ? 
" — Xay,  though  our  life  were  blind,  our  death  were  fruitless, 
Not  therefore  were  the  whole  world's  high  hope  rootless ; 
But  man  to  man,  nation  would  turn  to  nation, 

And  the  old  life  live,  and  the  old  great  world  be  great." 

With  such  a  faith — with  that  "inexorable  desire"  burning  in 
the  heart  and  the  brain — surely  one  could  find  the  answer  easy 
enough  to  the  last  question  of  the  poor  creatures  who  wonder  at 
the  way-worn  pilgrims, 

" — Pass  on  then,  and  pass  by  us  and  let  us  be, 
For  what  light  think  ye  after  life  to  see  ? 
And  if  the  world  fare  better  will  ye  know? 

And  if  man  triumph  who  shall  seek  you  and  say  ?" 

That  lie  could  answer  for  himself,  at  any  rate.  He  was  not  one 
to  put  much  store  by  the  fair  soft  present;  and  if  ho  were  to 
enter  upon  any  undertaking  such  as  that  he  had  had  but  a 


56  SUNKISE. 

glimpse  of,  neither  personal  reward  nor  the  liope  of  any  immedi- 
ate success  would  be  the  lure.  He  would  be  satisfied  to  know 
that  his  labor  or  his  life  had  been  well  spent.  But  whence  was 
to  come  that  belief  ?  whence  the  torch  to  kindle  the  sacred 
fire? 

The  more  he  read,  durino-  these  da3's  of  waiting,  of  the  books 
and  pamphlets  he  had  brought  with  him,  the  less  clear  seemed  the 
way  before  him.  He  was  struck  with  admiration  when  he  read 
of  those  who  had  forfeited  life  or  liberty  in  this  or  the  other 
cause;  and  too  often  with  despair  when  he  came  to  analyze  their 
aims.  Once  or  twice,  indeed,  he  was  so  moved  by  the  passionate 
eloquence  of  some  socialist  writer  that  he  was  ready  to  say, 
"  AVell,  the  poor  devils  have  toiled  long  enough;  give  them  their 
turn,  let  the  revolution  cost  what  it  may  !"  And  then  immedi- 
ately afterward:  "What!  Stir  up  the  unhappy  wretches  to 
throw  themselves  on  the  bayonets  of  the  standing  armies  of  Eu- 
rope ?     There  is  no  emancipation  for  them  that  way." 

But  when  he  turned  from  the  declamation  and  the  impractica- 
ble designs  of  this  impassioned  literature  to  the  vast  scheme  of 
co-operation  that  had  been  suggested  rather  than  described  to 
him,  there  seemed  more  hope.  If  all  these  various  forces  that 
were  at  work  could  be  directed  into  one  channel,  what  might 
they  not  accomplish?  Weed  out  the  visionary,  the  impractica- 
ble, the  anarchical  from  their  aims;  and  then  what  might  not  be 
done  by  this  convergence  of  all  these  eager  social  movements? 
Lind,  he  argued  with  himself,  was  not  at  all  a  man  likely  to  de- 
vote himself  to  optimistic  dreams.  Further  than  that — and  here 
he  was  answering  a  suspicion  that  again  and  again  recurred  to 
him — what  if,  in  such  a  great  social  movement,  men  were  to  be 
found  who  were  only  playing  for  their  own  hand  ?  That  was  the 
case  in  every  such  combination.  But  false  or  self-seeking  agents 
neither  destroyed  the  nobleness  of  the  work  nor  could  defeat  it 
in  the  end  if  it  were  worthy  to  live.  They  might  try  to  make 
for  themselves  what  use  they  could  of  the  current,  but  they  too 
were  swept  onward  to  the  sea. 

So  he  argued,  and  communed,  and  doubted,  and  tried  to  be- 
lieve. And  all  through  it — whether  he  paced  up  and  down  by 
the  sea  in  the  blustering  weather,  or  strolled  away  through  the 
town  and  up  the  face  of  the  tall  white  cliff,  or  lay  awake  in  the 
dark  niirht,  listening  to  the  rush  and  moan  of  the  waves  —  all 


IN    SOLITUDE.  57 

tlirougli  these  doubts  and  questions  there  was  another  and  sweet- 
er and  clearer  sound,  that  seemed  to  come  from  afar — 

"She  shall  be  yet  who  is  more  than  all  these  were, 
Than  sister  or  wife  or  father  unto  us  or  mother." 

However  loud  the  sea  was  at  night,  that  was  the  sound  he  lieard, 
clear  and  sweet — the  sound  of  a  giiTs  voice,  that  had  joy  in  it, 
and  fuitli  in  the  future,  and  that  spoke  to  him  of  wliat  was  to  be. 

Well,  the  days  passed  ;  and  still  his  friends  did  not  come.  Ue 
had  many  trips  across,  to  while  away  the  time ;  and  had  become 
great  friends  with  the  stout,  black-haired  French  captain.  He 
had  conveyed  Josephine  and  Veroniquc  and  their  little  grand- 
mother safely  over,  and  had  made  thera  as  comfortable  as  was 
possible  under  trying  circumstances.  And  alwavs  and  every  day 
there  were  freshly-cut  flowers  and  renewed  fruit,  and  a  re-en- 
Grao-ed  saloon-carriaQ;e  waitino;  for  those  stranfjers  who  did  not 
come ;  until  both  hotel  people  and  railway  people  began  to  think 
Mr.  Brand  as  mad  as  the  little  French  lady  assured  herself  he  was, 
when  he  said  he  meant  to  cross  the  Channel  twice  for  nothing. 

At  last — at  last !  He  had  strolled  up  to  the  Calais  station, 
and  was  standing  on  the  platform  when  the  train  came  in.  But 
there  was  no  need  for  him  to  glance  eagerly  up  and  down  at  the 
now  opening  doors ;  for  who  was  this  calmly  regarding  him — or 
rather  regarding  him  with  a  smile  of  surprise?  Despite  the  big 
furred  cloak  and  the  hood,  he  knew  at  once;  he  darted  forward, 
lifted  the  lower  latch  and  opened  the  door,  and  gave  her  his  hand. 

"  Oh,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Brand  ?"  said  she,  with  a  pleasant 
look  of  welcome.  "  Who  could  have  expected  to  meet  you 
here?"    • 

He  was  confused,  embarrassed,  bewildered.  This  voice  so 
strangely  recalled  those  sounds  that  had  been  haunting  him  for 
days.     He  could  only  stammer  out, 

'*  I — I  happened  to  be  at  Dover,  and  thought  I  would  ran  over 
here  for  a  little  bit.  How  lucky  you  arc — it  is  such  a  beautiful 
day  for  crossing." 

"  That  is  good  news ;  I  must  tell  papa,"  said  Natalie,  cheer- 
fully, as  she  turned  again  to  the  open  door. 

3* 


58  SUNRISE. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A    DISCOVERY, 

"  AxD  you  are  going  over  too  ?  And  to  London  also  ?  Oli, 
that  will  be  very  nice." 

It  seemed  so  strange  to  hear  this  voice,  that  had  for  days 
sounded  to  him  as  if  it  were  far  away,  now  quite  close,  and  talk- 
ing in  this  friendly  and  familiar  fashion.  Then  she  had  brought 
the  first  of  the  spring  with  her.  The  air  had  grown  quite  mild ; 
the  day  was  clear  and  shining ;  even  the  little  harbor  there  seem- 
ed bright  and  picturesque  in  the  sun.  He  had  never  before  con- 
sidered Calais  a  very  beautiful  place. 

And  as  for  her ;  well,  she  appeared  pleased  to  have  met  with 
this  unexpected  companion ;  and  she  Avas  very  cheerful  and  talk- 
ative as  they  w^ent  down  to  the  quay,  these  tw^o  together.  And 
whether  it  was  that  she  was  glad  to  be  relieved  from  the  cramped 
position  of  the  carriage,  or  whether  it  was  that  his  being  taller 
than  she  gave  countenance  to  her  height,  or  whether  it  was  mere- 
ly that  she  rejoiced  in  the  sweet  air  and  the  exhilaration  of  the 
sunlight,  she  seemed  to  walk  with  even  more  than  her  usual 
proudness  of  gait.  This  circumstance  did  not  escape  the  eye  of 
her  father,  who  was  immediately  behind. 

"  Natalie,"  said  he,  peevishly,  "  you  are  walking  as  if  you  wore 
a  sword  by  your  side." 

She  did  not  seem  sorely  hurt. 

"  '  Du  Schwert  an  meiner  Linken  !'  "  she  said,  with  a  laugh. 
"  It  is  my  military  cloak  that  makes  you  think  so,  papa." 

Why,  even  this  cockle-shell  of  a  steamer  looked  quite  inviting 
on  so  pleasant  a  morning.  And  there  before  them  stretched  the 
blue  expanse  of  the  sea,  with  every  wave,  and  every  ripple  on 
every  wave,  flashing  a  line  of  silver  in  the  sunlight.  No  sooner 
were  they  out  of  the  yellow-green  waters  of  the  harbor  than  Mr. 
Brand  had  his  companions  conducted  on  to  the  bridge  between 
the  paddle-boxes ;  and  the  little  crop-haired  French  boy  brought 
them  camp-stools,  and  their  faces  were  turned  toward  England. 


A    UISCOVERV.  59 

"Ah!"  said  Natalie,  "many  a  poor  wretch  has  breathed  more 
freely  when  at  last  he  found  himself  looking  out  for  the  English 
shore.  Do  you  remember  old  Anton  Pcpczinski  and  his  solemn 
toast,  papa  ?" 

She  turned  to  George  Brand. 

"  He  was  an  old  Polish  gentleman,  who  used  to  come  to  our 
house  in  the  evening,  he  and  a  few  others  of  his  countrymen,  to 
smoke  and  play  chess.  But  always,  some  time  during  the  even- 
intr,  he  would  sav,  '  Gentlemen,  a  Pole  is  never  ungrateful.  I  call 
on  you  to  drink  this  toast:  To  the  white  chalk-line  beijond  the 
sea  r  "  And  then  she  added,  quickly,  "  If  I  were  English,  how 
proud  I  should  be  of  England''" 

"  But  why  ?"  he  said. 

"Because  she  has  kept  liberty  alive  in  Europe,"  said  the  girl, 
proudly  ;  "  because  she  offers  an  exile  to  the  oppressed,  no  mat- 
ter from  whence  they  come;  because  she  says  to  the  tyrant,  'No, 
you  cannot  follow.'  Why,  when  even  your  beer-men,  your  dray- 
men know  how  to  treat  a  Ilaynau,  what  must  the  spirit  of  the 
country  be?  If  only  those  fine  fellows  could  have  caught  Win- 
dischgriitz  too !" 

Her  father  laughed  at  her  vehemence ;  Brand  did  not.  That 
strange  vibration  in  the  girl's  voice  penetrated  him  to  the  heart. 

"  But  then,"  said  he,  after  a  second  or  two,  "  I  have  been  amus- 
inof  myself  for  some  days  back  by  reading  a  good  deal  of  politi- 
cal writing,  mostly  by  foreigners ;  and  if  I  were  to  believe  what 
they  say,  I  should  take  it  that  England  was  the  most  supersti- 
tious, corrupt,  enslaved  nation  on  the  face  of  the  earth !  What 
with  its  reverence  for  rank,  its  worship  of  the  priestliood — oh,  I 
cannot  tell  you  what  a  frightful  country  it  is  !" 

"Who  were  the  writers  ?"  Mr.  Lind  asked. 

Brand  named  two  or  three,  and  instantly  the  attention  of  the 
others  seemed  arrested. 

"Oh,  that  is  the  sort  of  literature  you  have  been  reading?"  he 
said,  with  a  quick  glance. 

"  I  have  had  some  days'  idleness." 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  the  other,  with  a  smile ;  "  but  I  think  you 
might  have  spent  it  better.  That  kind  of  literature  only  leads 
to  disorder  and  anarchy.  It  may  have  been  useful  at  one  time ; 
it  is  useful  no  longer.  Enough  of  ploughing  has  been  done ;  we 
want  sowiu"-  done  now — we  want  writers  who  will  build  up  in- 


60  SUNRISE. 

stead  of  pulling  down.  Those  Nihilists,"  he  added,  almost  with 
a  sigh,  "  arc  beconiino-  more  and  more  inipracticaljle.  They  aim 
at  scarcely  anythini!;  beyond  destruction." 

Here  Natalie  changed  the  conversation.  This  was  too  bright 
and  beautiful  a  day  to  permit  of  despondency. 

"I  suppose  you  love  the  sea,  Mr.  Brand?"  slie  said.  "All 
Englishmen  do.     And  yachting — I  suppose  you  go  yachting?" 

"  I  have  tried  it ;  but  it  is  too  tedious  for  me,"  said  Brand. 
"  The  sort  of  yachting  I  like  is  in  a  vessel  of  five  thousand  tons, 
going  three  hundred  and  eighty  miles  a  day.  With  half  a  gale 
of  wind  in  your  teeth  in  the  '  rolling  Forties,'  then  there  is  some 
fun." 

"  I  must  go  over  to  the  States  very  soon,"  Mr.  Lind  said. 

"  Papa !" 

"The  worst  of  it  is,"  her  father  said,  without  heeding  that  ex- 
clamation of  protest,  "  that  I  have  so  much  to  do  that  can  only 
be  done  by  word  of  mouth." 

"  I  wish  I  could  take  the  message  for  you,"  Brand  said,  lightly. 
"  When  the  weather  looks  decent,  I  very  often  take  a  run  across 
to  New  York,  put  up  for  a  few  days  at  the  Brevoort  House,  and 
take  the  next  ship  home.  It  is  very  enjoyable,  especially  if  you 
know  the  officers.  Then  the  bagman — I  have  acquired  a  positive 
love  for  the  bagman." 

"  The  what  ?"  said  Natalie. 

"  The  bagman.  The  '  commy  '  his  friends  call  him.  The  com- 
mercial traveller,  don't  you  know  ?  He  is  a  most  capital  fellow — 
full  of  life  and  fun,  desperately  facetious,  delighting  in  practical 
jokes:  altogether  a  wonderful  creature.  You  begin  to  think  you 
are  in  another  generation — before  England  became  melancholy — 
the  generation,  for  example,  that  roared  over  the  adventures  of 
Tom  and  Jerry." 

Natalie  did  not  know  who  Tom  and  Jerry  were ;  but  that  was 
of  little  consequence;  for  at  this  moment  they  began  to  descry 
"  the  white  chalk-line  beyond  the  sea  " — the  white  line  of  the 
English  coast.  And  they  went  on  chatting  cheerfully ;  and  the 
sunlight  flashed  its  diamonds  on  the  blue  waters  around  them, 
and  the  white  chalk  cliffs  became  more  distinct. 

"  And  yet  it  seems  so  heartless  for  one  to  be  going  back  to 
idleness,"  Natalie  Lind  said,  absently.  "  Papa  works  as  hard  in 
England  as  anywhere  else ;  but  what  can  I  do  ?     To  think  of  one 


A    PTSroVERY.  01 

going  back  to  peaceful  days,  and  comfort,  and  pleasant  friends, 
when  others  have  to  go  through  such  misery,  and  t(i  fight  against 
such  persecution  !     When  ^'j(■^a  Sassulitch  olTcred  iiir  Iier  hand — " 

She  stop[)ed  abruptlv,  witli  a  (|uick,  frightened  look,  first  at 
George  Brand,  then  at  her  father. 

"  You  need  not  hesitate,  Natalie,"  her  father  said,  cahnly.  "  Mr. 
Brand  has  given  me  his  word  of  honor  he  will  reveal  nothing  he 
may  hear  from  us." 

"  I  do  not  think  you  need  be  afraid,"  said  Brand ;  but  all  the 
same  he  was  conscious  of  a  keen  pang  of  mortification.  He,  too, 
had  noticed  that  quick  look  of  fright  and  distrust.  What  did  it 
mean,  then  ?  ^^  You  are  beside  us,  you  are  near  to  us;  but  you 
are  not  of  us,  you  are  not  tvith  ?<s." 

lie  was  silent,  and  she  was  silent  too.  She  seemed  ashamed 
of  her  indiscretion,  and  would  say  nothing  further  about  Vjera 
Sassulitch. 

"  Don't  imagine,  Mr.  Brand,"  said  her  father,  to  break  this 
awkward  silence,  "  that  what  Natalie  says  is  true.  She  is  not 
going  to  be  so  idle  as  all  that.  No  ;  she  has  plenty  of  hard  work 
before  her — at  least,  I  think  it  hard  work — translating  from  the 
German  into  Polish." 

"  1  wish  I  could  help,"  Brand  said, in  a  low  voice.  "I  do  not 
know  a  word  of  Polish." 

"You  help?"  she  said,  regarding  him  with  the  beautiful  dark 
eyes,  that  had  a  sudden  wonder  in  them.  "  Would  you,  if  vou 
knew  Polish  ?" 

He  met  that  straight,  fearless  glance  without  flinching;  and  he 
said  "Yes,"  while  they  still  looked  at  each  other.  Then  her  eyes 
fell ;  and  perhaps  there  was  the  slightest  flush  of  embarrassment, 
or  pleasure,  on  the  pale,  handsome  face. 

But  how  quickly  her  spirits  rose !  There  was  no  more  talk  of 
politics  as  they  neared  England.  He  described  the  successive 
ships  to  her;  he  called  her  attention  to  the  strings  of  wild-duck 
flying  up  Channel ;  he  named  the  various  headhuids  to  her. 
Then,  as  they  got  nearer  and  nearer,  the  little  xVnneli  had  to  be 
sought  out,  and  the  various  travelling  impedimenta  got  togeth- 
er. It  did  not  occur  to  Mr.  Lind  or  his  daughter  as  strange  that 
George  Brand  should  be  travelling  without  any  luggage  what- 
ever. 

But  surely  it  must  have  occurred  to  them  as  remarkable  that  a 


62  SUNRISE. 

bachelor  should  have  had  a  saloon-carriage  reserved  for  himself — 
unless,  indeed,  they  reflected  that  a  rich  Englishman  was  capable 
of  any  whimsical  extravagance.  Then,  no  sooner  had  Miss  Lind 
entered  this  carriage,  than  it  seemed  as  though  everything  she 
could  think  of  was  being  brought  for  her.  Such  flowers  did 
not  grow  in  raihvay-stations-^especially  in  the  month  of  March  ? 
Had  the  fruit  dropped  from  the  telegraph-poles  ?  Cakes,  wine, 
tea,  magazines,  and  newspapers  appeared  to  come  without  being 
asked  for. 

"  Mr.  Brand,"  said  Natalie,  "  you  must  be  an  English  Monte 
Cristo  :  do  you  clap  your  hands,  and  the  things  appear  ?" 

But  a  Monte  Cristo  should  never  explain.  The  conjuror  who 
reveals  his  mechanism  is  no  longer  a  conjuror.  George  Brand 
only  laughed,  and  said  he  hoped  Miss  Lind  would  always  find  peo- 
ple ready  to  welcome  her  when  she  reached  English  shores. 

As  they  rattled  along  through  those  shining  valleys — the  woods 
and  fields  and  homesteads  all  glowing  in  the  afternoon  sun — she 
had  put  aside  her  travelling-cloak  and  hood,  for  the  air  was  quite 
mild.  Was  it  the  drawing  off  of  the  hood,  or  the  stir  of  wind 
on  board  the  steamer,  that  had  somewhat  disarranged  her  hair? — 
at  all  events,  here  and  there  about  her  small  ear  or  the  shapely 
neck  there  was  an  escaped  curl  of  raven-black.  She  had  taken 
off  her  gloves,  too  :  her  hands,  somewhat  large,  were  of  a  beauti- 
ful shape,  and  transparently  white.  The  magazines  and  newspa- 
pers received  not  much  attention — except  from  Mr.  Lind,  who  said 
that  at  last  he  should  see  some  news  neither  a  week  old  nor  ficti- 
tious. As  for  these  other  two,  they  seemed  to  find  a  wonderful 
lot  to  talk  about,  and  all  of  a  profoundly  interesting  character. 
AVith  a  sudden  shock  of  disappointment  George  Brand  found 
that  they  were  almost  into  London. 

His  hand-bag  was  at  once  passed  by  the  custom-house  people ; 
and  he  had  nothing  to  do  but  say  good-bye.  His  face  was  not 
over-cheerful. 

"  Well,  it  was  a  lucky  meeting,"  Mr.  Lind  said.  "  Natalie  ought 
to  thank  you  for  being  so  kind  to  her." 

"Yes;  but  not  here,"  said  the  girl,  and  she  turned  to  him. 
"  Mr.  Brand,  people  who  have  travelled  so  far  together  should 
not  part  so  quickly:  it  is  miserable.  Will  you  not  c  )me  and 
spend  the  evening  with  us  ?" 

"  Natalie  will  give  us  something  in  the  way  of  an  early  din- 


A    DISCOVERY.  63 

ner,"  said  Mr.  Lind,  "  and  then  you  can  make  her  play  the  zitlier 
for  you." 

Well,  there  was  not  much  hesitation  about  his  accepting. 
That  drawiiio'-room,  with  its  rose-and-grccn-shaded  candles,  was 
not  as  other  drawing-rooms  in  the  evening.  In  that  room  you 
could  hear  the  fountains  plashing  in  the  Villa  Realc,  and  the  Ca- 
])ri  fishermen  singing  afar,  and  the  cattle-bells  chiming  on  the 
Campagna,  and  the  gondolas  sending  their  soft  chorus  across  the 
lagoon.  When  Brand  left  his  bag  in  the  cloak-room  at  the  sta- 
tion he  gave  the  porter  half  a  crown  for  carrying  it  thither,  which 
was  unnecessary.  Nor  was  there  any  hopeless  apathy  on  his  face 
as  he  drove  away  with  these  two  friends  through  the  darkening 
afternoon,  in  the  little  hired  brougham.  When  they  arrived  in 
Curzon  Street,  he  was  even  good  enough  to  assist  the  timid  little 
Anneli  to  descend  from  the  box ;  but  this  was  in  order  tliat  he 
might  slip  a  tip  into  the  hand  of  the  coachman.  The  coachman 
scarcely  said  "  Thank  you."  It  was  not  until  afterward  that  he 
discovered  he  had  put  half  a  sovereign  into  his  breeches-pocket 
as  if  it  were  an  ordinary  sixpence. 

Natalie  Lind  came  down  to  dinner  in  a  dress  of  black  velvet, 
with  a  mob-cap  of  rose-red  silk.  Round  her  neck  she  wore  a  band 
of  Venetian  silver-work,  from  the  centre  of  which  was  suspended 
the  little  old-fashioned  locket  she  had  received  in  Hyde  Park. 
George  I>rand  remembered  the  story,  and  perhaps  was  a  trifle 
surprised  that  she  should  wear  so  conspicuously  the  gift  of  a 
stranger. 

She  was  very  friendly,  and  very  cheerful.  She  did  not  seem  at 
all  fatigued  with  her  travelling ;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  probably 
the  sea-air  and  the  sunlight  that  had  lent  to  her  cheek  a  faint 
flush  of  color.     But  at  the  end  of  dinner  her  father  said, 

"  Natalushka,  if  we  go  into  the  drawing-room,  and  listen  to 
music,  after  so  long  a  day,  we  shall  all  go  to  sleep.  You  must 
come  into  the  smokino;-room  with  us." 

"  Very  well,  papa." 

"But,  Miss  Lind,"  the  other  gentleman  remonstrated,  "a  velvet 
dress — tobacco-smoke — " 

"  My  dresses  must  take  their  chance,"  said  Miss  Lind.  "  I 
wear  them  to  please  my  friends,  not  to  please  chance  acquaint' 
anccs  who  may  call  during  the  day." 

And  so  they  retired  to  the  little  den  at  the  end  of  the  passage ; 


64  SUNRISE. 

and  Natalie  handed  Mr.  Brand  a  box  of  cisfars  to  choose  from,  and 
cot  down  from  the  rack  her  father's  lono'-stemmcd,  red-bowled 
pipe.    Then  she  took  a  seat  in  the  corner  by  the  fire,  and  listened. 

The  talk  was  all  about  that  anarchical  literature  that  Brand 
had  been  devouring  down  at  Dover;  and  he  was  surprised  to 
find  how  little  sympathy  Lind  had  with  writing  of  that  kind, 
though  he  had  to  confess  that  certain  of  the  writers  were  person- 
al friends  of  his  own.  Natalie  sat  silent,  listening  intently,  and 
staring  into  the  fire. 

At  last  Brand  said, 

"  Of  course,  I  had  other  books.  For  example,  one  I  see  on 
your  shelves  there."  He  rose,  and  took  down  the  "  Songs  before 
Sunrise."  "  Miss  Lind,"  he  said,  "  I  am  afraid  you  Avill  laugh  at 
me;  but  I  have  been  haunted  with  the  notion  that  you  have  been 
teaching  Lord  Evelyn  how  to  read  poetry,  or  that  he  has  been 
unconsciously  imitating  you.  I  heard  him  repeat  some  passages 
from  'The  Pilgrims,'  and  I  was  convinced  he  was  reproducing 
something  he  had  heard  from  you.  "Well — I  am  almost  ashamed 
to  ask  you — " 

A  touch  of  embarrassment  appeared  on  the  girl's  face,  and 
she  glanced  at  her  father. 

"  Yes,  certainly,  Natalie ;  why  not  ?" 

"  Well,"  she  said,  lightly,  "  I  cannot  read  if  I  am  stared  at. 
You  must  remain  as  you  are." 

She  took  the  book  from  him,  and  passed  to  the  other  side  of 
the  room,  so  that  she  was  behind  them  both.  There  was  silence 
for  an  instant  or  two  as  she  turned  over  the  leaves. 

Then  the  silence  was  broken  ;  and  if  Brand  was  instantly  as- 
sured that  his  surmise  was  correct,  he  also  knew  that  here  was  a 
more  pathetic  cadence — a  prouder  ring  —  than  any  that  Lord 
Evelyn  had  thrown  into  the  lines.  She  read  at  random — a  pas- 
sage here,  a  passage  there — but  always  it  seemed  to  him  that  the 
voice  was  the  voice  of  a  herald  proclaiming  the  new  awakening 
of  the  world — tlie  evil  terrors  of  tlie  night  departing — the  sun- 
light of  liberty  and  right  and  justice  beginning  to  shine  over  the 
sea.     And  these  appeals  to  England  ! 

"  Oh  thou,  clothed  round  with  raiment  of  white  waves, 
Thy  brave  brows  hghtening  through  the  gray  wet  air, 
Thou,  lulled  with  sea-sounds  of  a  thousand  caves, 
And  lit  with  sea-shine  to  thy  inland  lair, 


A    DISCOVERY,  '  65 

Wliosc  frcedora  clothed  the  naked  souls  of  slaves 
And  stripped  tlie  ninftled  souls  of  tyrants  bare, 
Oil,  by  the  crutuiies  of  thy  ylnrious  graves. 
By  the  live  light  of  the  earth  that  was  thy  care, 
Live,  thou  nuist  not  be  dead, 
Live  ;  let  tiiy  armed  head 
Lift  itself  up  to  sunward  and  the  fair 
Daylight  of  time  and  man. 
Thine  head  republican. 
With  the  same  splendor  on  thine  helmlcss  hair 
That  in  his  eyes  kept  up  a  light 
Who  on  thy  glory  gazed  away  their  sacred  sight." 

Tlic  cry  there  was  in  this  voice !     Surely  his  heart  answered, 
"  Oh  Milton's  land,  what  ails  thee  to  be  dead  !" 

"Was  it  in  tliis  very  room,  he  wondered,  that  the  old  Polish 
refugee  was  used  to  lift  up  his  trembling  hand  and  bid  his  com- 
patriots drink  to  "the  white  chalk-line  beyond  the  sea?"  How 
could  he  forget,  as  he  and  she  sat  together  that  morning,  and 
gazed  across  the  blue  waters  to  the  far  and  sunlit  line  of  coast, 
the  light  that  shone  on  her  face  as  she  said,  "If  I  were  English, 
how  proud  I  should  be  of  England !"  And  this  England  of  her 
veneration  and  her  love — did  it  not  contain  some,  at  least,  who 
would  answer  to  her  appeal  ? 

Presently  Xatalic  Lind  shut  the  book  and  gently  laid  it  down, 
and  stole  out  of  the  room.  She  was  gone  only  for  a  few  sec- 
onds. "When  she  returned,  she  had  in  her  hand  a  volume  of 
sketches,  of  which  she  had  been  speaking  during  dinner. 

He  did  not  open  this  volume  at  once.  On  the  contrary,  he  was 
silent  for  a  little  while ;  and  then  he  looked  up,  and  addressed 
Natalie,  with  a  strange  grave  smile  on  his  face. 

"  I  was  about  to  tell  your  father,  Miss  Lind,  when  you  came  in, 
that  if  I  could  not  translate  for  yon,  or  carry  a  message  across 
the  Atlantic  for  him,  he  might  at  least  find  something  else  that 
I  can  do.  At  all  events,  may  I  say  that  I  am  willing  to  join 
you,  if  I  can  be  of  any  help  at  all  V 

Ferdinand  Lind  regarded  him  for  a  second,  and  said,  quite 
calmly, 

"  It  is  unnecessary.     You  have  already  joined  us." 


66  SUNRISE. 


CHAPTER  IX, 

A    NIGHT    IN    VENICE. 

The  solitary  occupant  of  this  railway-carriago  was  apparently 
reading;  but  all  the  same  he  looked  oftener  at  his  watch  than  at 
his  book.  At  length  he  definitely  shut  the  volume  and  placed 
it  in  his  travellino;-ba2f.  Then  lie  let  down  tlie  carriao'e- window, 
and  looked  out  into  the  night. 

The  heavens  were  clear  and  calm ;  the  newly-risen  moon  was 
but  a  thin  crescent  of  silver;  in  the  south  a  large  planet  was 
shining.  All  around  him,  as  it  seemed,  stretched  a  vast  plain  of 
water,  as  dark  and  silent  and  serene  as  the  overarching  sky. 
Then,  far  ahead,  he  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  pale  line  stretch- 
ing across  the  watery  plain — a  curve  of  the  many-arched  viaduct 
along  which  the  train  was  thundering ;  and  beyond  that  again, 
and  low  down  at  tiie  horizon,  two  or  three  minute  and  dusky 
points  of  orange.     These  lights  were  the  lights  of  Venice. 

This  traveller  was  not  much  hampered  with  luggage.  When 
finally  the  train  was  driven  into  the  glare  of  the  station,  and  the 
usual  roar  and  confusion  began,  he  took  his  small  bag  in  his  hand 
and  rapidly  made  his  wa}'  through  the  crowd ;  then  out  and 
down  the  broad  stone  steps,  and  into  a  gondola.  In  a  couple 
of  minutes  he  was  completely  away  from  all  that  glare  and  bus- 
tle and  noise ;  nothing  around  him  but  darkness  and  an  absolute 
silence. 

The  city  seemed  as  the  City  of  the  Dead.  The  tall  and  som- 
bre buildings  on  each  side  of  the  water-highway  were  masses  of 
black — blackest  of  all  where  they  showed  against  the  stars.  The 
ear  sought  in  vain  for  any  sound  of  human  life ;  there  was  noth- 
ing but  the  lapping  of  the  water  along  the  side  of  the  boat,  and 
the  slow,  monotonous  plash  of  the  oar. 

Farther  and  farther  into  the  silence  and  the  darkness ;  and 
now  here  and  there  a  window,  close  down  to  the  water,  and  heav- 
ily barred  with  rectangular  bars  of  iron,  shows  a  dull  red  light; 


A    NIGHT    IN   VENICE.  67 

but  there  is  no  soiiiul,  nor  any  passing  shadow  within.  The  man 
who  is  standing  by  tlie  hcarse-Hke  cabin  of  the  gondola  observes 
and  thinks,  Tiiesc  blaclc  buildings;  the  narrow  and  secret  ca- 
nals; the  stillness  of  the  night:  are  they  not  snggestive  enough 
— of  revenge,  a  i|uick  blow,  and  the  silence  of  the  grave?  And 
now,  as  the  gondola  still  glides  on,  tliere  is  heard  a  slow  and  dis- 
tant tolling  of  bells.  The  deed  is  done,  then  ? — no  longer  will 
the  piteous  hands  be  thrust  out  of  the  barred  window — no  longer 
will  the  wild  cry  for  hel[)  startle  the  passer-by  in  the  night-time. 
And  now  again,  as  the  gondola  goes  on  its  way,  another  sound — 
still  more  niutfled  and  indistinct — the  sound  of  a  church  organ, 
with  the  solemn  chanting  of  voices.  Are  they  praying  for  the 
soul  of  the  dead  ?  The  sound  becomes  more  and  more  distant ; 
the  gondola  goes  on  its  way. 

The  new-comer  has  no  further  time  for  these  idle  fancies.     At 
the  Rialto  bridge  he  stops  the  gondola,  pays  the  man,  and  goes 
ashore.     Then,  rapidly  ascending  the  steps,  he  crosses  the  bridge,* 
descends  the  other  side,  and  again  jumps  into  a  gondola.     All 
tliis  the  work  of  a  few  seconds. 

But  it  was  obvious  he  had  been  expected,  lie  gave  no  instruc- 
tions to  the  two  men  in  this  second  gondola.  They  instantly 
went  to  work,  and  with  a  rapid  and  powerful  stroke  sent  the 
boat  along — with  an  occasional  warning  cry  as  they  swept  by  the 
entrance  to  one  or  other  of  the  smaller  canals.  Finally,  they 
abruptly  left  the  Grand  Canal,  close  by  the  Corte  d'Appello,  and 
shot  into  a  narrow  opening  that  seemed  little  more  than  a  slit 
between  the  buildings. 

Here  they  had  to  go  more  cautiously  ;  the  orange  light  of  their 
lamp  shining  as  they  passed  on  the  empty  archways,  and  on  the 
iron -barred  windows,  and  the  slimy  steps.  And  always  this 
strange  silence  in  the  dead  or  sleeping  city,  and  the  monotonous 
plash  of  the  oars,  and  the  deep  low  cry  of  "  Sia  premi !"  or  "  Sia 
stali !"  to  give  warning  of  their  approach.  But,  indeed,  that 
warning  was  unnecessary ;  they  were  absolutely  alone  in  this 
labyrinth  of  gloomy  water-ways. 

At  length  they  shot  beneath  a  low  bridge,  and  stopped  at  some 
steps  immediately  beyond.  Here  one  of  the  men,  getting  out, 
proceeded  to  act  as  guide  to  the  stranger.  They  bad  not  far  to 
go.  They  passed  first  of  all  into  a  long,  low,  and  foul-smelling 
archway,  in  the  middle  of  which  was  a  narrow  aperture  protected 


G8  SUNRISE. 

by  an  iron  gate.  Tlio  man  lit  a  candle,  opened  the  gate,  and  pro- 
ceded  his  companion  along  a  passage  and  up  a  stone  staircase. 
The  atmosphere  of  the  place  Avas  damp  and  sicklj' ;  the  staircase 
was  not  more  than  three  feet  in  width ;  the  feeble  glimmer  of 
the  candle  did  bnt  little  to  dispel  the  darkness.  Even  that  was 
withdrawn  ;  ior  the  guide,  having  knocked  thrice  at  a  door,  blew 
out  the  candle,  and  retreated  down-stairs. 

"  The  night  is  dark,  brotliery 

"  The  dawn  is  near.'''' 

Instantly  the  door  was  thrown  open ;  the  dark  figure  of  a  man 
was  seen  against  the  light;  he  said,  "  Come  in  !  come  in!"  and 
his  hand  was  outstretched.  The  stranger  seemed  greatly  sur- 
prised. 

"  What,  yon,  Calabressa !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Your  time  has  not 
expired !" 

"  What,  no  ?  My  faith,  I  have  made  it  expire  !"  said  the  other, 
airily,  and  introducing  a  rather  badly  pronounced  French  word  or 
two  into  his  Italian.  "  But  come  in,  come  in  ;  take  a  seat.  You 
are  early ;  you  may  have  to  wait." 

He  was  an  odd-looking  person,  this  tall,  thin,  elderly  man,  with 
the  flowing  yellow-white  hair  and  the  albino  eyes.  There  was  a 
semi-military  look  about  his  braided  coat;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
he  wore  the  cap  of  a  German  student — of  purple  velvet,  with  a 
narrow  leather  peak.  He  seemed  to  be  proud  of  his  appearance. 
He  had  a  gay  manner. 

"  Yes,  I  am  escaped.  Ah,  how  fine  it  is  !  You  walk  about  all 
day  as  you  please ;  you  smoke  cigarettes ;  you  have  your  coffee ; 
you  go  to  look  at  the  young  English  ladies  who  come  to  feed  the 
pigeons  in  the  place." 

He  raised  two  fingers  to  his  lips,  and  blew  a  kiss  to  all  the  world. 

"  Such  complexions  !  A  wild  rose  in  every  cheek !  But  listen, 
now;  this  is  not  about  an  English  young  lady.  I  go  up  to  the 
Church  of  St.  Mark — beside  the  bronze  horses.  I  am  enjoying 
the  air,  when  I  hear  a  sound ;  I  turn  ;  over  there  I  see  open  win- 
dows;  ah!  the  figure  in  the  white  dressing-gown  !  It  is  the  diva 
herself.  They  play  the  Barbiere  to-night,  and  she  is  practising 
as  she  dusts  her  room.  Una  voce  poco  fa — it  trills  all  through 
the  square.  She  puts  the  ornaments  on  the  mantel-piece  straight. 
Zo  ffiurai,  la  vinccro  ! — she  goes  to  the  mirror  and  makes  the 
most  beautiful  attitude.     Ah,  what  a  spectacle — the  black  hair 


A    NIGHT    IN    VENICE.  69 

all  down — tLe  white  dres.sino;-gowii — lo  sono  docile'''' — and  again 
be  kissed  his  two  fingers.     Then  he  said, 

"  But  now,  you.  You  do  not  look  one  day  older.  And  how 
is  Natalie  ?" 

"Natalie  is  Avell,  L  believe,"  said  the  other,  gravely. 

"You  are  a  strange  man.  You  have  not  a  soft  heart  for  the 
pretty  creatures  of  the  world ;  you  are  implacable.  The  little 
Natalushka,  then  :  how  is  she?" 

"  The  little  Natalushka  is  grown  big  now ;  she  is  quite  a 
woman." 

"  A  woman  !  She  will  marry  an  Englishman,  and  become  very 
rich  :  is  not  that  so  ?" 

"  Natalie — I  mean,  Natalushka  will  not  marry,"  said  the  other, 
coldly.  "  She  knows  she  is  very  useful  to  me.  She  knows  I 
have  no  other." 

"  Maintenant :  the  business — how  goes  that  ?" 

"  Elsewhere,  well ;  in  p]ngland,  not  quite  so  Avell,"  said  Ferdi- 
nand Lind.  "But  what  can  you  expect?  The  English  think 
they  have  no  need  of  co-operation,  except  to  get  their  groceries 
cheap.  Why,  everything  is  done  in  the  open  air  there.  If  a 
scoundrel  gets  a  lash  too  many  in  prison,  you  have  it  before  Par- 
liament next  week.  If  a  school-boy  is  kicked  by  his  master,  you 
have  all  the  newspapers  in  the  country  ablaze.  The  newspapers 
govern  England.  A  penny  journal  has  more  power  than  the 
commander-in-chief." 

"  Then  why  do  you  remain  in  England  V 

"  It  is  the  safest  for  me,  personally.  Then  there  is  most  to  be 
done  there.  Again,  it  is  the  bead-quarters  of  money.  Do  you 
see,  Calabressa?     One  must  have  money,  or  one  cannot  work." 

The  albino-looking  man  lit  a  cigarette. 

"You  despair,  then,  of  England  ?     No,  you  never  despair." 

"  There  is  a  prospect.  The  Southern  Englishman  is  apathetic  ; 
be  is  interested  only,  as  I  said,  in  getting  his  tea  and  sugar  cheap. 
But  the  Northern  Englishman  is  vigorous.  The  trades'  associa- 
tions in  the  North  are  vast,  powerful,  wealthy ;  but  they  arc  sus- 
picious of  anything  foreign.  Members  join  us ;  the  associations 
will  not.  But  what  do  you  think  of  this,  Calabressa:  if  one  were 
to  have  the  assistance  of  an  Englishman  whose  father  was  one  of 
the  great  iron-masters ;  whose  name  is  well  known  in  the  north ; 
who  has  a  large  fortune,  and  a  strong  will  f 


70  SUNRISE. 

"  You  have  got  such  a  man  ?" 

"  Not  yet.  He  is  only  a  Friend.  But  if  I  do  not  misjudge 
him,  he  will  be  a  Companion  soon.  He  is  a  man  after  my  own 
heart :  once  with  us,  all  the  powers  of  the  earth  will  not  turn  hira 
back." 

"  And  his  fortune  ?" 

"He  will  help  us  with  that  also,  no  doubt." 

"But  how  did  it  occur  to  Providence  to  furnish  you  with  an 
assistant  so  admirably  equipped?" 

"  Do  you  mean  how  did  I  chance  to  find  him  ?  Through  a 
young  English  lord — an  amiable  youth,  who  is  a  great  friend  of 
Natalie's — of  Natalushha's.     Why,  he  has  joined  us,  too — " 

"  An  English  milord  !" 

"  Yes ;  but  it  is  merely  from  poetical  sympathy.  He  is  pleas- 
ant and  warm-hearted,  but  to  us  not  valuable ;  and  he  is  poor." 

At  this  moment  a  bell  rung,  apparently  in  an  adjoining  apart- 
ment. Calabressa  jumped  from  his  chair,  and  hastened  to  a  door 
on  his  left,  which  he  opened.  A  2)ortiere  prevented  anything  be- 
ing seen  in  the  chamber  beyond. 

"  Has  the  summons  been  answered  V  a  voice  asked,  from  the 
other  side. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Calabressa.     "  Brother  Lind  is  here." 

"  That  is  well." 

The  door  was  again  shut,  and  Calabressa  resumed  his  seat. 

"  Brother  Lind,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice,  though  he  leaned  back 
in  his  chair,  and  still  preserved  that  gay  manner,  "  I  suppose  you 
do  not  know  why  you  have  been  summoned  ?" 

"  Not  I." 

"Bien.  But  suppose  one  were  to  guess?  Suppose  there  is  a 
gentleman  somewhere  about  who  has  been  carrying  his  outraging 
of  one's  common  notions  of  decency  just  a  little  too  far  ?  Sup- 
pose it  is  necessary  to  make  an  example?  You  may  be  noble, 
and  have  great  wealth,  and  honor,  and  smiles  from  beautiful 
women ;  but  if  some  night  you  find  a  little  bit  of  steel  getting 
into  your  heart,  or  if  some  morning  you  find  your  coffee  as  you 
drink  it  burn  all  the  way  down  until  you  can  feel  it  burn  no  more 
— what  then  ?  You  must  bid  good-bye  to  your  mistresses,  and 
to  your  gold  plate  and  feasts,  and  your  fountains  spouting  per- 
fumes, and  all  your  titles  :  is  not  that  so  ?" 

"  But  who  is  it  ?"  said  Lind,  suddenly  bending  forward. 


A    NIGHT    IN    VENICE.  71 

The  other  regarded  him  for  a  moment,  phiyfully. 

"  What  if  I  were  to  mention  the  'Starving  Cardinal?''  " 

"  Zaccatelli !"  exclaimed  Liiid,  with  a  ghastly  pallor  appearing 
for  a  moment  in  the  powerful  iron-gray  face. 

Calabressa  only  laughed. 

"  Oh  yes,  it  is  beautiful  to  have  all  these  fine  things.  And  the 
unhappy  devils  who  are  forced  to  pawn  their  last  sticks  of  furni- 
ture at  the  Monte  di  I'ieta,  rather  than  have  their  children  starve 
when  bread  is  dear;  how  it  must  gratify  them  to  think  of  his 
Eminence  seizing  the  funds  of  that  flourishing  institution  to  buy 
up  the  whole  of  the  grain  in  the  Papal  States !  What  an  admira- 
ble speculation  !  How  kind  to  the  poor,  on  the  part  of  the 
Secretary  to  the  Yicar  of  Christ !  What ! — do  you  think  because 
I  am  a  cardinal  I  am  not  to  make  a  profit  in  corn  ?  I  tell  you 
those  people  have  no  business  to  be  miserable — they  have  no 
business  to  go  and  pawn  their  things;  if  I  am  allowed  to  specu- 
late with  the  funds,  why  not?  Allans  done!  —  it  is  a  devilish 
fine  world,  merry  gentlemen  !" 

"But — but  Avhy  have  they  summoned  me?"  Lind  said,  in  the 
same  low  voice. 

"Who  knows?"  said  the  other,  lightly.  "I  do  not.  Come, 
tell  me  more  about  the  little  Natalushka.  Ah,  do  I  not  remem- 
ber the  little  minx,  when  she  came  in,  after  dinner,  among  all 
those  men,  with  her  ''Eljen  a  haza  P  What  has  she  grown  to? 
what  has  she  become  ?" 

"  Natalie  is  a  good  girl,"  said  her  father ;  but  he  was  thinking 
of  other  things. 

"  Beautifuf?" 

"  Some  would  say  so."    . 

"But  not  like  the  English  young  ladies?" 

"  Not  at  all." 

"  I  thousi'ht  not.  I  remember  the  black-eved  little  one — with 
her  pride  in  Batthyany,  and  her  hatred  of  Gorgey,  and  all  the 
rest  of  it.  The  little  Empress ! — with  her  proud  eyes,  and  her 
bhick  eyelashes.  Do  you  remember  at  Dunkirk,  when  old  Anton 
Pepczinski  met  her  for  the  first  time  ?  ''Little  Natalushka,  if  I 
wait  for  you,  zoill  you  marry  me  ivhen  you  grow  upV  Then  the 
quick  answer,  '/  am  not  to  be  called  any  longer  by  my  nursery 
name  ;  hut  if  you  ivill  fght  for  my  country,  I  will  marry  you 
when  I  grow  «/>.'  " 


72  SUNRISE. 

Light-hearted  as  this  man  Calabressa  was,  having  escaped  from 
prison,  and  eagerly  inclined  for  chatter,  after  so  long  a  spell  of 
enforced  silence,  he  could  not  fail  to  perceive  that  his  companion 
Avas  hardly  listening  to  him. 

"  Mais,  mon  frere,  a  quoi  bon  le  regarder  ?"  he  said,  peevishly. 
"If  it  must  come,  it  will  come.  Or  is  it  the  poor  cardinal  you 
pity  ?  That  was  a  good  name  they  invented  for  him,  anyway — 
il  cardinale  affamatorc.'''' 

Again  the  bell  rung,  and  Ferdinand  Lind  started.  When  he 
turned  to  the  door,  it  was  with  a  look  on  his  face  of  some  anxiety 
and  apprehension — a  look  but  rarely  seen  there.  Then  the  por- 
tiere was  drawn  aside  to  let  some  one  come  through :  at  the  same 
moment  Lind  caught  a  brief  glimpse  of  a  number  of  men  sitting 
round  a  small  table. 

The  person  who  now  appeared,  and  whom  Lind  saluted  with 
great  respect,  was  a  little,  sallow-complexioned  man,  with  an  in- 
tensely black  beard  and  mustache,  and  a  worn  expression  of  face. 
He  returned  Lind's  salutation  gravely,  and  said, 

"  Brother,  the  Council  thank  you  for  your  prompt  answer  to 
the  summons.  Meanwhile,  nothing  is  decided.  You  will  attend 
here  to-morrow  night." 

"  At  what  hour.  Brother  Granaglia?" 

"Ten.  You  will  now  be  conveyed  back  to  the  Rialto  steps; 
from  thence  you  can  get  to  your  hotel." 

Lind  bowed  acquiescence ;  and  the  stranger  passed  again 
through  the  portiere  and  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  X. 

VACILLATION. 

"  Evelyn,  I  distrust  that  man  Lind." 

The  speaker  was  George  Brand,  who  kept  impatiently  pacing 
up  and  down  those  rooms  of  his,  while  his  friend,  with  a  dreamy 
look  on  the  pale  and  fine  face,  lay  back  in  an  easy-chair,  and 
gazed  out  of  the  clear  panes  before  him.  It  was  night ;  the 
blinds  had  not  been  drawn;  and  the  row  of  windows,  framed  by 
their  scarlet  curtains,  seemed  a  series  of  dark-blue  pictures,  all 
throbbing  with  points  of  golden  fire. 


VACILLATION.  13 

"Is  there  any  one  you  do  not  distrust?"  said  Lord  Evelyn,  ab- 
sently. 

"  I  hope  so.  But  with  regard  to  Llnd  :  I  had  distinctly  to  let 
him  know  that  he  must  not  assume  that  I  am  mixed  up  in  any 
of  his  schemes  until  I  definitely  say  so.  When,  in  answer  to  my 
vague  proposal,  he  told  me  I  had  already  pledged  myself,  I  con- 
fess I  was  startled  for  a  moment.  Of  course  it  was  all  very  well 
for  him  afterward  to  speak  of  my  declared  sympathy,  and  of  iny 
promise  to  reveal  nothing,  as  being  quite  enough,  at  least  for  the 
earlier  stage.  If  that  is  so,  you  may  easily  acquire  adherents. 
But  either  I  join  with  a  definite  pledge,  or  not  at  all." 

"  I  am  inclined  to  think  you  had  better  not  join,"  said  Lord 
Evelyn,  calmly. 

After  that  there  was  silence;  and  Brand's  companion  lay  and 
looked  on  the  picture  outside,  that  was  so  dark  and  solemn  and 
still.  In  the  midst  of  all  that  blaze  of  various  and  trembling  lights 
was  the  unseen  river — unseen  but  for  the  myriad  reflections  that 
showed  the  ripples  of  the  water;  then  the  far-reaching  rows  of 
golden  stars,  spanning  the  bridges,  and  marking  out  the  long  Em- 
bankment sweep  beyond  St.  Thomas's  Uospital.  On  the  other 
side  black  masses  of  houses — all  their  commonplace  detail  lost  in 
the  mysterious  shadow  ;  and  over  them  the  silver  crescent  of  the 
moon  just  strong  enough  to  give  an  edge  of  white  to  a  tall  shot- 
tower.  Then  far  away  in  the  east,  in  the  clear  dark  sky,  the 
dim  gray  ghost  of  a  dome;  scarcely  visible,  and  yet  revealing  its 
presence ;  the  great  dome  of  St.  Paul's. 

This  beautiful,  still  scene — the  silence  was  so  intense  that  the 
footfall  of  a  cab-horse  crossing  Waterloo  Bridge  could  be  faintly 
heard,  as  the  eye  followed  the  light  slowly  moving  between  the 
two  rows  of  golden  stars — seemed  to  possess  but  little  interest 
for*  the  owner  of  these  rooms.  For  the  moment  he  had  lost  al- 
together his  habitual  air  of  proud  reserve. 

"Evelyn,"  he  said,  abruptly,  "  was  it  not  in  these  very  rooms 
you  insisted  that,  if  the  work  was  good,  one  need  not  be  too 
scrupulous  about  one's  associates  ?" 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  the  other,  indifferently :  he  had  almost  lost 
hope  of  ever  overcoming  his  friend's  inveterate  suspicion. 

"Well,"  Brand  said,  "  there  is  something  in  that.  I  believe 
in  the  work  that  Lind  is  engaged  in,  if  I  am  doubtful  about  him. 
And  if  it  pleases  you  or  him  to  say  that  I  have  joined  you  mere- 

4 


74  SUNRISE. 

ly  because  I  express  sympathy,  and  promise  to  say  nothing,  well 
and  good.     But  you  :  you  are  more  than  that  ?" 

The  question  somewhat  startled  Lord  Evelyn ;  and  his  pale 
face  flushed  a  little. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  said ;  "  of  course.  I — I  cannot  precisely  explain 
to  you." 

"  I  understand.  But,  if  I  did  really  join,  I  should  at  least 
have  you  for  a  companion." 

Lord  Evelyn  turned  and  regarded  him. 

"  If  you  were  to  join,  it  might  be  that  you  and  I  should  never 
see  each  other  again  in  this  world.  Have  I  not  told  you? — 
Your  first  pledge  is  that  of  absolute  obedience ;  you  have  no  lon- 
ger a  right  to  your  own  life ;  you  become  a  slave,  that  others 
may  be  free." 

"And  you  would  have  me  place  myself  in  the  power  of  a  man 
like  Lind  ?"  Brand  exclaimed. 

"  If  it  were  necessary,"  said  Lord  Evelyn,  "  I  should  hold  my- 
self absolutely  at  the  bidding  of  Lind ;  for  I  am  convinced  he  is 
an  honest  man,  as  he  is  a  man  of  great  ability  and  unconquerable 
energy  and  will.  But  you  would  no  more  put  yourself  in  Lind's 
power  than  in  mine.  Lind  is  a  servant,  like  the  rest  of  us.  It 
is  true  he  has  in  some  ways  a  sort  of  quasi-independent  position, 
which  I  don't  quite  understand ;  but  as  regards  the  Society  that 
I  have  joined,  and  that  you  would  join,  he  is  a  servant,  as  you 
would  be  a  servant.  But  what  is  the  use  of  talking?  Your 
temperament  isn't  fitted  for  this  kind  of  work." 

"  I  want  to  see  my  way  clear,"  Brand  said,  almost  to  himself. 

"Ah,  that  is  just  it;  whereas,  you  must  go  blindfold." 

Thereafter  again  silence.  The  moon  had  risen  higher  now ; 
and  the  paths  in  the  Embankment  gardens  just  below  them  had 
grown  gray  in  the  clearer  light.  Lord  Evelyn  lay  and  watched 
the  light  of  a  hansom  that  was  rattling  along  by  the  side  of  the 
river. 

"Do  you  remember,"  said  Brand,  with  a  smile,  "your  repeat- 
ing some  verses  here  one  night ;  and  my  suspecting  you  had  bor- 
rowed the  inspiration  somewhere?  My  boy,  I  have  found  you 
out.  What  I  guessed  was  true.  I  made  bold  to  ask  Miss  Lind 
to  read,  that  evening  I  came  up  with  them  from  Dover." 

"I  know  it,"  said  Lord  Evelyn,  quietly. 

"You  have  seen  her,  then?"  was  the  quick  question. 


VACILLAIIUN. 


15 


"  No  ;  she  wrote  to  me." 

*'  Oh,  she  writes  to  you  ?"  tlie  other  said. 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  did  not  know  her  father  had  gone  abroad, 
and  I  called.  As  a  rule,  she  sees  no  one  while  lier  fatlier  is  away  ; 
on  the  other  hand,  she  will  not  say  she  is  not  at  home  if  she  is 
at  home.  So  she  wrote  me  a  note  of  apology  for  refusing  to  see 
me ;  and  in  it  she  told  me  you  liad  been  very  kind  to  them,  and 
how  she  had  tried  to  read,  and  had  read  very  badly,  because  she 
feared  your  criticism — " 

"  I  never  heard  anything  like  it !"  Brand  said ;  and  then  lie 
corrected  himself.  "Well,  yes,  I  have;  I  have  heard  you,  Eve- 
lyn.    You  have  been  an  admirable  pupil." 

"  Now  when  I  think  of  it,"  said  his  friend,  putting  his  hand 
in  his  breast-pocket,  "this  letter  is  mostly  about  you.  Brand.  Let 
me  see  if  there  is  anything  in  it  you  may  not  see.  No ;  it  is  all 
very  nice  and  friendly." 

lie  was  about  to  hand  over  the  letter,  when  he  stopped. 

"  I  do  believe,"  he  said,  looking  at  Brand,  "  that  you  are  capa- 
ble of  thinking  Natalie  wrote  this  letter  on  purpose  you  should 
see  it." 

"  Then  you  do  me  a  great  injustice,"  Brand  said,  without  an- 
ger. "And  you  do  her  a  great  injustice.  I  do  not  think  it  needs 
any  profound  judge  of  character  to  see  what  that  girl  is." 

"  For  that  is  one  thing  I  could  never  forgive  you,  Brand." 

"  What  ?" 

"  If  you  were  to  suspect  Natalie  Lind." 

This  was  no  private  and  confidential  communication  that 
passed  into  Brand's  hand,  but  a  frank,  gossiping,  sisterly  note, 
stretching  out  beyond  its  initial  purpose.  And  there  was  no 
doubt  at  all  that  it  was  mostly  about  Brand  himself;  and  the 
reader  grew  red  as  he  went  on.  He  had  been  so  kind  to  them 
at  Dover ;  and  so  interested  in  her  papa's  woi'k ;  and  so  anxious 
to  be  of  service  and  in  sympathy  with  them.  And  then  she 
spoke  as  if  he  were  definitely  pledged  to  them  ;  and  how  proud 
she  was  to  have  another  added  to  the  list  of  her  friends.  George 
Brand's  face  was  as  red  as  his  beard  when  he  folded  up  the  letter, 
lie  did  not  immediately  return  it. 

"  What  a  wonderful  woman  that  is  !"  said  he,  after  a  time.  "  I 
did  not  think  it  would  be  left  for  a  foreigner  to  teach  me  to  be- 
lieve in  England." 


76  SUNRISE. 

Lord  Evelyn  looked  up. 

"Oh,"  Brand  said,  instantly,  "  I  know  what  you  would  ask: 
'  What  is  my  belief  worth  ?'  '  How  much  do  I  sympathize  V 
Well,  I  can  give  you  a  plain  answer:  a  shilling  in  the  pound  in- 
come-tax. If  England  is  this  stronghold  of  the  liberties  of  En- 
rope — if  it  is  her  business  to  be  the  lamp-bearer  of  freedom — if 
she  must  keep  her  shores  inviolate  as  the  refuge  of  those  who  are 
oppressed  and  persecuted,  well,  then,  I  would  pay  a  shilling  in- 
come-tax, or  double  that,  or  treble  that,  to  give  her  a  navy  that 
would  sweep  the  seas.  For  a  big  army  there  is  neither  popula- 
tion, nor  sustenance,  nor  room  ;  but  I  would  give  her  such  a  navy 
as  would  let  her  put  the  world  to  defiance." 

"  I  wish  Natalie  would  teach  you  to  believe  in  a  few  other 
things  while  she  is  about  it,"  said  his  friend,  with  a  slight  and 
rather  sad  smile. 

"  For  example  ?" 

"  In  human  nature  a  little  bit,  for  example.  In  the  possibility 
of  a  woman  being  something  else  than  a  drawing-room  peacock, 
or  worse.  Do  you  think  she  could  make  you  believe  that  it  is 
possible  for  a  woman  to  be  noble-minded,  unselfish,  truth-speak- 
ing, modest,  and  loyal-hearted  ?" 

"  I  presume  you  are  describing  Natalie  Lind  herself." 

"Oh,"  said  his  friend,  with  a  quick  surprise,  "then  you  admit 
there  may  be  an  exception,  after  all  ?  You  do  not  condemn  the 
whole  race  of  them  now,  as  being  incapable  of  even  understand- 
ing what  frank  dealing  is,  or  honor,  or  justice,  or  anything  beyond 
their  own  vain  and  selfish  caprices?" 

George  Brand  went  to  the  window. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  he,  "  my  experience  of  women  has  been  un- 
fortunate, unusual.  I  have  not  had  much  chance,  especially  of 
late  years,  of  studying  them  in  their  quiet  domestic  spheres.  But 
otherwise  I  suppose  my  experience  is  not  unusual.  Every  man 
begins  his  life,  in  his  salad  days,  by  believing  the  world  to  be  a 
very  fine  thing,  and  women  particularly  to  be  very  wonderful 
creatures  —  angels,  in  short,  of  goodness,  and  mercy,  and  trutli, 
and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Then,  judging  by  what  I  have  seen  and 
heard,  I  should  say  that  about  nineteen  men  out  of  twenty  get  a 
regular  facer  —  just  at  the  most  sensitive  period  of  their  life; 
and  then  they  suddenly  believe  that  women  are  devils,  and  the 
world  a  delusion.     It  is  bad  logic ;  but  they  are  not  in  a  mood 


VACILLATION.  77 

for  reason.  By-and-by  the  process  of  recovery  begins;  with  some 
short,  with  others  long.  But  the  spring-time  of  belief,  and  hope, 
and  rejoicing — I  doubt  whether  that  ever  comes  back." 

He  spoke  without  any  bitterness.  If  the  facts  of  the  world 
were  so,  they  had  to  be  accepted. 

"I  swallowed  my  dose  of  experience  a  good  many  years  ago," 
he  continued,  "  but  I  haven't  got  it  out  of  my  blood  yet.  llow- 
ever,  I  will  admit  to  you  the  possibility  of  there  being  a  few 
women  like  Natalie  Lind." 

"  Well,  this  is  better,  at  all  events,"  Lord  Evelyn  said,  cheer- 
fully. 

"  Beauty,  of  course,  is  a  dazzling  and  dangerous  thing,"  Brand 
said ;  "  for  a  man  always  wants  to  believe  that  fine  eyes  and  a 
sweet  voice  have  a  sweet  soul  behind  them.  And  very  often  he 
finds  behind  them  something  in  the  shape  of  a  soul  that  a  dog  or 
a  cat  would  be  ashamed  to  own.  But  as  for  Natalie  Lind,  I  don't 
think  one  can  be  deceived.  She  shows  too  much.  She  vibrates 
too  quickly — too  inadvertently — to  little  chance  touches.  I  did 
suspect  her,  I  will  confess.  I  thought  she  was  hired  to  play  the 
part  of  decoy.  But  1  had  not  seen  her  for  ten  minutes  before 
I  was  convinced  she  was  playing  no  part  at  all." 

"  But  goodness  gracious.  Brand,  what  are  we  coming  to  ?" 
Lord  Evelyn  said,  with  a  laugh.  "  What !  We  already  believe 
in  England,  and  patriotism,  and  the  love  of  freedom  ?  And  we 
are  prepared  to  admit  that  there  is  one  woman — positively,  in 
the  world,  one  woman — who  is  not  a  cheat  and  a  selfish  coquette  ? 
Why,  where  are  we  to  end  ?" 

"I  don't  think  I  said  only  one  woman,"  Brand  replied,  quite 
good-naturedly  ;  and  then  he  added,  with  a  smile,  "  You  ask  where 
we  are  to  end.  Suppose  I  w^ere  to  accept  your  new  religion, 
Evelyn  ?    Would  that  please  you  ?    And  would  it  please  her,  too  ?" 

"Ah !"  said  his  companion,  looking  up  with  a  quick  glance  of 
pleasure.     But  he  would  argue  no  more. 

"  Perhaps  I  have  been  too  suspicious.  It  is  a  habit ;  I  have 
had  to  look  after  myself  pretty  much  through  the  world  ;  and  I 
don't  overvalue  the  honesty  of  people  I  don't  know.  But  w  hen 
I  once  set  my  hand  to  the  work,  I  am  not  likely  to  draw  back." 

"You  could  be  of  so  much  more  value  to  them  than  I  can," 
said  Lord  Evelyn,  wistfully.  "  I  don't  suppose  you  spend  more 
than  half  of  your  income." 


78  SUNRISE. 

"Oil,  as  to  that,"  said  Brand,  at  once,  "that  is  a  very  different 
matter.  If  they  like  to  take  myself  and  what  I  can  do,  well  and 
good  ;  money  is  a  very  different  thing." 

His  companion  raised  himself  in  his  chair ;  and  there  was  sur- 
prise on  his  face. 

"  How  can  you  help  them  so  well  as  with  your  money  ?"  he 
cried.     "  Why,  it  is  the  very  thing  they  want  most." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !"  said  Brand,  coldly,  "  You  see,  Evelyn,  my  fa- 
ther was  a  business  man  ;  and  I  may  have  inherited  a  commercial 
way  of  looking  at  things.  If  I  were  to  give  away  a  lot  of  money 
to  unknown  people,  for  unknown  purposes,  I  should  say  that  I 
was  being  duped,  and  that  they  were  putting  the  money  in  their 
own  pocket." 

"  My  dear  fellow  !"  Lord  Evelyn  protested ;  "  the  need  of  mon- 
ey is  most  urgent.  There  are  printing-presses  to  be  kept  going ; 
agents  to  be  paid ;  police-spies  to  be  bribed — there  is  an  enor- 
mous work  to  be  done,  and  money  must  be  spent." 

"x\ll  the  same,"  said  Brand,  who  was  invariably  most  resolved 
when  he  was  most  quiet  in  his  manner,  "  I  shall  prefer  not  run- 
ning the  chance  of  being  duped  in  that  direction.  Besides,  I  am 
bound  in  honor  not  to  do  anything  of  the  kind.  I  can  fling  ray- 
self  away — that  is  my  own  lookout ;  and  my  life,  or  the  way  I 
spend  it,  is  not  of  great  consequence  to  me.  But  my  father's 
property,  if  anything  happens  to  me,  ought  to  go  intact  to  my 
sister's  boys,  to  whom,  indeed,  I  have  left  it  by  will.  I  will  say 
to  Lind, '  Is  it  myself  or  my  money  that  is  wanted :  you  must 
choose.'  " 

"  The  question  would  be  an  insult." 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  so  ?  Very  well  ;  I  will  not  ask  it.  But 
that  is  the  understanding."  Then  he  added,  more  lightly, "  Why, 
would  you  have  the  Pilgrim  start  with  his  pocket  full  of  sover- 
eigns? His  staff  and  his  wallet  are  all  he  is  entitled  to.  And 
when  one  is  going  to  make  a  big  plunge,  shouldn't  one  strip?" 

There  was  no  answer ;  for  Lord  Evelyn's  quick  ear  had  caught 
the  sound  of  wheels  in  the  adjacent  street. 

"  There  is  my  trap,"  he  said,  looking  at  his  watch  as  he  rose. 

Waters  brought  the  young  man  his  coat,  and  then  went  out  to 
liofht  him  down-stairs. 

"  Good-night,  Brand.  Glad  to  see  you  are  getting  into  a  whole- 
somer  frame  of  mind.     I  shall  tell  Natalie  you  are  now  prepared 


VACILLATION.  79 

to  admit  that  there  is  in  the  world  at  least  one  woman  who  is 
not  a  cheat." 

"  I  hope  yon  will  not  utter  a  word  to  Miss  Lind  of  any  of  the 
nonsense  we  have  been  talking,"  said  Brand,  hastily,  and  with  his 
face  grown  red. 

"  All  right.  By-the-way,  when  are  you  coming  up  to  see  the 
girls?" 

"To-morrow  afternoon  :  will  that  do  ?" 

"Very  well ;  I  shall  wait  in." 

"  Let  mc  see  if  I  remember  the  order  aright,"  said  Brand,  hold- 
ing up  his  fingers  and  counting.  "  Rosalys,  Blanche,  Ermentrude, 
Agnes,  Jane,  Frances,  Geraldine  :  correct  ?" 

"Quite.  I  think  their  mother  must  forget,  at  times.  Well, 
good-night." 

"  Good-night — good-night !" 

Brand  returned  to  the  empty  room,  and  threw  wide  open  one 
of  the  windows.  The  air  was  singularly  mild  for  a  night  in 
March  ;  but  he  had  been  careful  of  his  friend.  Then  he  dropped 
into  an  easy-chair,  and  opened  a  letter. 

It  was  the  letter  from  Natalie  Lind,  which  lie  had  held  in  his 
hand  ever  since,  eagerly  hoping  that  Evelyn  would  forget  it — as, 
in  fact,  he  had  done.  And  now  with  what  a  stransxe  interest  he 
read  and  re-read  it ;  and  weighed  all  its  phrases ;  and  tried  to 
picture  lier  as  she  wrote  these  lines ;  and  studied  even  the  pecu- 
liarities of  the  handwriting.  There  was  a  quaint,  foreign  look 
here  and  there — the  capital  B,  for  example,  was  written  in  Ger- 
man fashion  ;  and  that  letter  occurred  a  good  many  times.  It 
was  Mr.  Brand,  and  Mr.  Brand,  over  and  over  again  —  in  this 
friendly  and  frank  gossip,  which  had  all  the  brightness  of  a  chat 
over  a  new  acquaintance  who  interests  one.  He  turned  to  the 
sign ature.     "  I "o« ?•  friend,  Na. ta lie.'''' 

Then  he  walked  up  and  down,  slowly  and  thoughtfully  ;  but 
ever  and  again  he  would  turn  to  the  letter  to  see  that  he  had 
quite  accurately  remembered  what  she  had  said  about  the  delight 
of  the  sail  from  Calais,  and  the  beautiful  flowers  at  Dover,  and 
her  gladness  at  the  prospect  of  their  having  this  new  associate 
and  friend.  Then  the  handwriting  again.  The  second  stroke  of 
the  N  in  her  name  had  a  little  notch  at  the  top — German  fash- 
ion.    It  looked  a  pretty  name,  as  she  wrote  it. 

Then  he  went  to  the  window,  and  leaned  on  the  brass  bar,  and 


80  SUNRISE. 

looked  out  on  the  dark  and  sleeping  world,  with  its  countless 
golden  points  of  fire.  He  remained  there  a  long  time,  thinking — 
of  the  past,  in  which  he  had  fancied  his  life  was  buried ;  of  the 
present,  with  its  bewildering  uncertainties ;  of  the  future,  with  its 
fascinating  dreams.  There  might  be  a  future  for  him,  then,  after 
all ;  and  hope;  and  the  joy  of  companionship?  Surely  that  let- 
ter meant  at  least  so  much. 

But  then  the  boundlessness,  the  eager  impatience,  of  human 
wishes !  Farther  and  farther,  as  he  leaned  and  looked  out,  with- 
out seeing  much  of  the  wonderful  spectacle  before  him,  went  his 
thoughts  and  eager  hopes  and  desires.  Companionship;  but  with 
whom  ?  And  might  not  the  spring-time  of  life  come  back  again, 
as  it  was  now  coming  back  to  the  world  in  the  sweet  new  air  that 
had  begun  to  blow  from  the  South  ?  And  what  message  did  the 
soft  night-wind  bring  him  but  the  name  of  Natalie  ?  And  Nata- 
lie was  written  in  the  clear  and  shining  heavens,  in  letters  of  fire 
and  joy ;  and  the  river  spoke  of  Natalie  ;  and  the  darkness  mur- 
mured Natalie. 

But  his  heart,  whispering  to  him — there,  in  the  silence  of  the 
night,  in  the  time  when  dreams  abound,  and  visions  of  what  may 
be — his  heart,  whispering  to  him,  said — "  Natalushka  !" 


CHAPTER  XL 

A    COMMISSION. 

When  Ferdinand  Lind  looked  out  next  day  from  the  window 
of  his  hotel,  it  was  not  at  all  the  Venice  of  chromo-lithography 
that  lay  before  him.  The  morning  was  wild,  gray,  and  gloomy, 
with  a  blustering  wind  blowing  down  from  the  north  ;  the  broad 
expanse  of  green  water  rufiled  and  lashed  by  continual  squalls; 
the  sea-gulls  wheeling  and  dipping  over  the  driven  waves ;  the 
dingy  masses  of  shipping  huddled  along  the  wet  and  deserted 
quays ;  the  long  spur  of  the  Lido  a  thin  black  line  between  the 
green  sea  and  the  purple  sky;  and  the  domed  churches  over 
there,  and  the  rows  of  tall  and  narrow  and  crumbling  palaces 
overlooking  the  canals  nearer  at  hand,  all  alike  dismal  and  be- 
draggled and  dark. 

When  he  went  outside  he  shivered ;  but  at  all  events  these 


A    COMMISSION.  81 

cokl,  damp  odors  of  the  sea  and  tlie  rainy  wind  were  more  grate- 
ful tliaii  the  nuistincss  of  tlic  hotel.  But  the  deserted  look  of 
the  place!  The  gondolas,  with  their  hcarse-like  coverings  on, 
lay  empty  and  untended  by  the  steps,  as  if  waiting  for  a  funeral 
procession.  The  men  had  taken  shelter  below  the  arehways, 
where  they  formed  groups,  silent,  uncomfortable,  sulky.  The  few 
passers-by  on  the  wet  (juays  hurried  along  with  their  vohuuinous 
black  cloaks  wrapi)ed  round  their  shoulders,  and  hiding  most  of 
the  mahogany-colored  faces.  Even  the  plague  of  beggars  had 
been  dispersed ;  they  had  slunk  away  shivering  into  the  foul- 
smelling  nooks  and  crannies.  There  was  not  a  soul  to  give  a 
handful  of  maize  to  the  pigeons  in  the  Place  of  St.  Mark. 

But  when  Lind  had  got  round  into  the  Place,  what  was  his 
surprise  to  find  Calabressa  having  his  breakfast  in  the  open  air 
at  a  small  table  in  front  of  a  cafe.  He  was  quite  alone  there; 
but  he  seemed  much  content.  In  fact,  he  was  laughing  heartily, 
all  to  himself,  at  something  he  had  been  reading  in  the  newspaper 
open  before  him. 

"  Well,"  said  Lind,  when  they  had  exchanged  salutations, 
"  this  is  a  pleasant  sort  of  morning  for  one  to  have  one's  break- 
fast outside !" 

"  My  faith,"  said  Calabressa,  "  if  yoii  had  taken  as  many 
breakfasts  as  I  have  shut  up  in  a  hole,  you  would  be  glad  to  get 
the  chance  of  a  mouthful  of  fresh  air.     Sit  down,  ray  friend." 

Lind  glanced  round,  and  then  sat  down. 

"  My  good  friend  Calabressa,"  he  said  presently,  *'  for  one  con- 
nected as  you  are  with  certain  persons,  do  you  not  think  now 
that  your  costume  is  a  little  conspicuous?  And  then  your  sit- 
ting out  here  in  broad  daylight — " 

"  My  friend  Lind,"  said  he,  with  a  laugh,  "  I  am  as  safe  here 
as  if  I  were  in  Naples,  which  I  believe  to  be  the  safest  place  in 
the  world  for  one  not  in  good  odor  with  the  authorities.  And 
if  there  was  a  risk,  would  I  not  run  it  to  hear  my  little  nightin- 
gale over  there  when  she  opens  the  casements  ?  Ah !  she  is  the 
most  charming  Rosina  in  the  world." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Lind.  "  I  am  not  speaking  of  you.  But — 
the  others.     The  police  must  guess  you  are  not  here  for  nothing." 

"Oh,  the  others?  Rest  assured.  The  police  might  as  well 
try  to  put  their  finger  on  a  globule  of  quicksilver.  It  is  but 
three  days  since  they  left  the  Piazza  del  Popolo,  Torre  del  Greco. 

4* 


82  SUNRISE. 

To-morrow,  if  their  business  is  finished  to-night,  they  will  vanish 
again ;  and  I  shall  be  dismissed." 

"  If  their  business  is  finished  ?"  repeated  Lind,  absently.  "  Yes  ; 
but  I  should  like  to  know  why  they  have  summoned  mo  all  the 
way  from  England.     They  cannot  mean — " 

"  My  dear  friend  Lind,"  said  Calabressa,  "  you  must  not  look 
so  grave.  Nothing  that  is  going  to  happen  is  worth  one's  trou- 
bling one's  self  about.  It  is  the  present  moment  that  is  of  conse- 
quence ;  and  at  the  present  moment  I  have  a  joke  for  you.  You 
know"  Armfeldt,  who  is  now  at  Berne :  they  had  tried  him  only 
four  times  in  Berlin;  and  there  was  only  a  little  matter  of  nine 
vears'  sentence  acrainst  him.     Listen." 

He  took  up  the  Osservatore^  and  read  out  a  paragraph,  stating 
that  Dr.  Julius  Armfeldt  had  again  been  tried  in  contumaciam, 
and  sentenced  to  a  further  term  of  two  years'  imprisonment,  for 
seditious  writing.  Further,  the  publisher  of  his  latest  pamphlet, 
a  citizen  of  Berne,  had  likewise  been  sentenced  in  his  absence  to 
twelve  months'  imprisonment. 

"  Do  they  think  Armfeldt  will  live  to  be  a  centenarian,  that 
they  keep  heaping  up  those  sentences  against  him?  Or  is  it  as 
another  inducement  for  him  to  go  back  to  his  native  country  and 
give  himself  up  ?  It  is  a  great  joke,  this  childish  proceeding ; 
but  a  Government  should  not  declare  itself  impotent.  It  is  like 
the  Austrians  when  they  hanged  you  and  the  others  in  effigy. 
Now  I  remember,  the  little  Natalushka  was  grieved  that  she  was 
not  born  then ;  for  she  wished  to  see  the  spectacle,  and  to  have 
killed  the  people  who  insulted  her  father." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  no  joke  at  all,"  Lind  said,  gloomily.  "Those 
Swiss  people  are  craven.  What  can  you  expect  from  a  nation 
of  hotel-waiters?  They  cringe  before  every  bully  in  Europe; 
you  will  find  that,  if  Bismarck  insists,  the  Federal  Council  will  ex- 
pel Armfeldt  from  Switzerland  directly.  No ;  the  only  safe  ref- 
uge nowadays  for  the  reformers,  the  Protestants,  the  pioneers  of 
Europe,  is  England ;  and  the  English  do  not  know  it ;  they  do 
not  think  of  it.  They  are  so  accustomed  to  freedom  that  they 
believe  that  is  the  only  possible  condition,  and  that  other  nations 
must  necessarily  enjoy  it.  When  you  talk  to  them  of  tyranny, 
of  political  persecution,  they  laugh.  They  cannot  understand 
such  a  thing  existing.  They  fancy  it  ceased  when  Bomba's 
dungeons  were  opened." 


A    COMMISSION.  83 

"For  my  part,"  said  Calabressa,  liL^litiiig  a  cigarette,  and  call- 
ing for  a  small  glass  of  cognac,  "  I  am  content  with  Naples." 

"And  the  protection  of  pickpockets?" 

"  My  friend,"  said  the  other,  coolly,  "  if  you  refer  to  tlie  most 
honorable  the  association  of  the  Camorristi,  I  would  advise  you 
not  to  speak  too  loud." 

Calabressa  rose,  having  settled  his  score  with  the  waiter. 

"  Allons  !"  said  he.     "  What  are  you  going  to  do  to-day?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Lind,  discontentedly.  "  May  the  devil 
fly  away  with  this  town  of  Venice !  I  never  come  here  bat  it  is 
either  freezing  or  suffocating." 

"You  are  in  an  evil  humor  to-day,  friend  Lind;  you  have 
caught  the  English  spleen.  Come,  I  have  a  little  business  to  do 
over  at  Murano ;  the  breeze  will  do  you  good.  And  I  will  tell 
you  the  story  of  my  escape." 

The  time  had  to  be  passed  somehow.  Lind  walked  with  his 
companion  along  to  the  steps,  descended,  and  jumped  into  a  gon- 
dola, and  presently  they  were  shooting  out  into  the  turbulent 
green  water  that  the  wind  drove  against  the  side  of  the  boat  in 
a  succession  of  sharp  shocks.  Seated  in  the  little  funereal  com- 
partment, they  could  talk  without  much  fear  of  being  heard  by 
either  of  the  men;  and  Calabressa  began  his  tale.  It  was  not 
romantic.  It  was  simply  a  case  of  bribery  ;  the  money  to  effect 
which  had  certainly  not  come  out  of  Calabressa's  shallow  pock- 
ets. In  the  midst  of  the  story — or,  at  least,  before  the  end  of  it 
— Lind  said,  in  a  low  voice, 

"  Calabressa,  have  you  any  sure  grounds  for  what  you  said 
about  Zaccatelli?" 

Ilis  companion  glanced  quickly  outside. 

"  It  is  you  are  now  indiscreet,"  he  said,  in  an  equally  low 
voice.  "  But  yes ;  I  think  that  is  the  business.  However,"  he 
added,  in  a  gayer  tone,  "  what  matter  ?  To-day  is  not  to-morrow ; 
to-morrow  will  shift  for  itself."  And  therewith  he  continued  his 
story,  though  his  listener  seemed  singularly  preoccupied  and 
thoughtful. 

They  arrived  at  the  island,  got  out,  and  walked  into  the  court- 
yard of  one  of  the  smaller  glass-works.  There  were  one  or  two 
of  the  workmen  passing ;  and  here  something  occurred  that 
seemed  to  arrest  Lind's  attention. 

"  What,  here  also  ?"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice. 


84  SUNRISE. 

"Every  one;  the  master  included.  It  is  with  him  I  have  to 
do  this  little  piece  of  business.  Now  you  will  be  so  good  as  to 
wait  for  a  short  time,  will  you  not? — and  it  is  warm  in  there;  I 
will  be  with  you  soon." 

Lind  walked  into  the  large  workshop,  where  there  were  a  num- 
ber of  people  at  work,  all  round  the  large,  circular,  covered  cal- 
dron, the  various  apertures  into  which  sent  out  fierce  rays  of 
light  and  heat.  He  walked  about,  seemingly  at  his  ease ;  look- 
ing at  the  apprentices  experimenting ;  chatting  to  the  workmen. 
And  at  last  he  asked  one  of  these  to  make  for  him  a  little  vase 
in  opalescent  glass,  that  he  could  take  to  his  daughter  in  Eng- 
land ;  and  could  he  put  the  letter  N  on  it  somewhere  ?  It  was 
at  least  some  occupation,  watching  the  quick  and  dexterous 
handling  under  which  the  little  vase  grew  into  form,  and  had  its 
decoration  cleverly  pinched  out,  and  its  tiny  bits  of  color  added. 
The  letter  N  was  not  very  successful ;  but  then  Natalie  would 
know  that  her  father  had  been  thinking  of  her  at  Venice. 

This  excursion  at  all  events  tided  over  the  forenoon  ;  and  when 
the  two  companions  returned  to  the  wet  and  disconsolate  city, 
Calabressa  was  easily  persuaded  to  join  his  friend  in  some  sort 
of  mid-day  meal.  After  that,  the  long-haired  albino-looking  per- 
son took  his  leave,  having  arranged  how  Lind  was  to  keep  the 
assignation  for  that  evening. 

The  afternoon  cleared  up  somewhat ;  but  Ferdinand  Lind 
seemed  to  find  it  dull  enough.  He  went  out  for  an  aimless  stroll 
through  some  of  the  narrow  back  streets,  slowly  making  his  way 
among  the  crowd  that  poured  along  tliese  various  ways.  Then 
he  returned  to  liis  hotel,  and  wrote  some  letters.  Then  he  dined 
early;  but  still  the  time  did  not  seem  to  pass.  He  resolved  on 
getting  through  an  hour  or  so  at  the  theatre. 

A  gondola  swiftly  took  him  away  through  the  labyrinth  of 
small  and  gloomy  canals,  until  at  length  the  wan  orange  glare 
shining  out  into  the  night  showed  him  that  he  was  drawing 
near  one  of  the  entrances  to  the  Fenice.  If  he  had  been  less 
preoccupied — less  eager  to  think  of  nothing  but  how  to  get  the 
slow  hours  over — he  might  have  noticed  the  strangeness  of  the 
scene  before  him  :  the  successive  gondolas  stealing  silently  up 
througli  the  gloom  to  the  palely  lit  stone  steps ;  the  black  cof- 
fins appearing  to  open  ;  and  then  figures  in  white  and  scarlet 
opera-cloaks  getting  out  into  the  dim  liglit,  to  ascend  into  the 


A    COMMISSION.  85 

brilliant  glare  of  the  theatre  staircase.  lie,  too,  followed,  and 
got  into  the  place  assigned  to  him.  But  this  spectacular  dis- 
play failed  to  interest  him.  He  turned  to  the  bill,  to  remind 
him  what  he  had  to  see.  The  blaze  of  color  on  the  stage — the 
various  combinations  of  movement — the  resounding  music — all 
seemed  part  of  a  dream  ;  and  it  annoyed  him  somehow.  He 
rose  and  left. 

The  intervening  time  he  spent  chiefly  in  a  cafe  close  by  the 
theatre,  where  he  smoked  cigarettes  and  appeared  to  read  the 
newspapers.  Then  he  wandered  away  to  the  spot  appointed  for 
him  to  meet  a  particular  gondola,  and  arrived  there  half  an  hour 
too  soon.  But  the  guiidula  was  there  also.  lie  jumped  in  and 
was  carried  away  through  the  silence  of  the  night. 

When  he  arrived  at  the  door,  which  was  opened  to  him  by 
Calabressa,  he  had  contrived  to  throw  off,  by  a  strong  effort  of 
will,  any  appearance  of  anxiety.  lie  entered  and  sat  down,  say- 
ing only, 

"Well!— what  news.?" 

Calabressa  laughed  slightly ;  and  went  to  a  cupboard,  and 
brought  forth  a  bottle  and  two  small  glasses. 

"If  you  were  Zaccatclli,"  he  said,  "I  would  say  to  you, 'My 
Lord,'  or  '  Your  Excellency,'  or  whatever  they  call  those  flamin- 
goes with  the  bullet  heads, '  I  would  advise  you  to  take  a  little 
drop  of  this  very  excellent  cognac,  for  you  are  about  to  hear 
something,  and  you  will  need  steady  nerves.'  Meanwhile,  Broth- 
er Lind,  it  is  not  forbidden  to  you  and  me  to  have  a  glass.  The 
Council  provide  excellent  liquor." 

"  Thank  you,  I  have  no  need  of  it,"  said  Lind,  coldly.  "  ^Miat 
do  you  mean  about  Zaccatclli  ?" 

"  This,"  said  the  other,  filling  liimself  out  a  glass  of  the  brandy, 
and  then  proceeding  to  prepare  a  cigarette.  "  If  the  moral  sense 
of  the  country,  too  long  outraged,  should  determine  to  punish  the 
Starving  Cardinal,  I  believe  he  will  get  a  good  year's  notice  to 
prepare  for  liis  doom.  You  perceive  ?  What  harm  does  sudden 
death  to  a  man  ?  It  is  nothing.  A  moment  of  pain  ;  and  you 
have  all  the  happiness  of  sleep,  indifference,  forgetfulness.  That 
is  no  punishment  at  all :  do  you  perceive  ?" 

Calabressa  continued,  airily — 

"  People  are  proud  when  they  say  they  do  not  fear  death.  The 
fools !     What  has  any  one  to  fear  in  death  ?     To  the  poor  it 


86  SUNRISE. 

means  no  more  hunger,  no  more  imprisonment,  no  more  cold  and 
sickness,  no  more  watcliing  of  your  children  when  they  are  suf- 
fering and  you  cannot  help ;  to  the  rich  it  means  no  more  tri- 
umph of  rivals,  and  envy,  and  jealousy ;  no  more  sleepless  nights 
and  ennui  of  days ;  no  more  gout,  and  gravel,  and  the  despair  of 
growing  old.  Death !  It  is  the  great  emancipation.  And  peo- 
ple talk  of  the  punishment  of  death !" 

He  gave  a  long  whistle  of  contempt. 

"  But,"  said  he,  with  a  smile,  "  it  is  a  little  bit  difEerent  if  you 
have  to  look  forward  to  your  death  on  a  certain  fixed  day.  Then 
you  begin  to  overvalue  things  —  a  single  hour  of  life  becomes 
something." 

He  added,  in  a  tone  of  affected  condolence — 

*'  Then  one  wouldn't  wish  to  cause  any  poor  creature  to  say 
his  last  adieux  without  some  preparation.  And  in  the  case  of  a 
cardinal,  is  a  year  too  little  for  repentance  ?  Oh,  he  will  put  it  to 
excellent  use." 

"  Very  well,  very  well,"  said  Ferdinand  Lind,  with  an  impatient 
frown  gathering  over  the  shaggy  eyebrows.  "  But  I  want  to  know 
what  I  have  to  do  with  all  this  ?" 

"  Brother  Lind,"  said  the  other,  mildly,  "  if  the  Secretary  Gra- 
naglia,  knowing  that  I  am  a  friend  of  yours,  is  so  kind  as  to  give 
me  some  hints  of  what  is  under  discussion,  I  listen,  but  I  ask  no 
questions.  And  you — I  presume  you  are  here  not  to  protest,  but 
to  obey." 

"Understand  me,  Calabressa :  it  was  only  to  you  as  a  friend 
that  I  spoke,"  said  Lind,  gravely.  And  then  he  added,  "  The 
Council  will  not  find,  at  all  events,  that  I  am  recusant." 

A  few  minutes  afterward  the  bell  rung,  and  Calabressa  jumped 
to  his  feet ;  while  Lind,  in  spite  of  himself,  started.  Presently 
the  portiere  was  drawn  aside,  and  the  little  sallow-complexioned 
man  whom  he  had  seen  on  the  previous  evening  entered  the  room. 
On  this  occasion,  however,  Calabressa  was  motioned  to  withdraw, 
and  immediately  did  so.    Lind  and  the  stranger  were  left  together. 

"  I  need  scarcely  inform  you.  Brother  Lind,"  said  he,  in  a  slow 
and  matter-of-fact  way,  "  that  I  am  the  authorized  spokesman  of 
the  Council." 

As  he  said  this,  for  a  moment  he  rested  his  hand  on  the  table. 
There  was  on  the  forefinger  a  large  ring,  with  a  red  stone  in  it, 
engraved.     Lind  bowed  acquiescence. 


A    COMMISSION.  87 

"  Calabrcssa,  lias  no  doubt,  informed  you  of  the  matter  before 
the  Council.  That  is  now  decided ;  the  decree  has  been  signed. 
Zaccatelli  dies  within  a  year  from  this  day.  The  motives  which 
have  led  to  this  decision  may  hereafter  be  explained  to  you,  even 
if  they  have  not  already  occurred  to  you  ;  they  are  motives  of 
policy,  as  regards  ourselves  and  the  progress  of  our  work,  as  well 
as  of  justice." 

Ferdinand  Lind  listened,  without  response. 

"  It  has  further  been  decided  that  the  blow  be  struck  from 
England." 

*'  England  !"  was  the  involuntary  exclamation. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  calmly.  "  To  give  full  effect  to  such  a 
warning  it  must  be  clear  to  the  world  that  it  has  nothing  to  do 
with  any  private  revenge  or  low  intrigue.  Assassination  has  been 
too  frequent  in  Italy  of  late.  The  doubting  throughout  the  world 
must  be  convinced  that  we  have  agents  everywhere ;  and  that  we 
are  no  mere  local  society  for  the  revenging  of  private  wrongs." 

Lind  again  bowed  assent. 

"  Further,"  said  the  other,  regarding  him,  "  the  Council  charge 
you  with  the  execution  of  the  decree." 

Lind  had  almost  expected  this :  he  did  not  flinch. 

"  After  twelve  months'  grace  granted,  you  will  be  prepared 
with  a  sure  and  competent  agent  who  will  give  effect  to  the 
decree  of  the  Council ;  failing  such  a  one,  the  duty  will  devolve 
on  your  own  shoulders." 

"  On  mine !"  he  was  forced  to  exclaim.     "  Surely — " 

"Do  you  forget,"  said  the  other,  calmly,  "that  sixteen  years 
ago  your  life  was  forfeited,  and  given  back  to  you  by  the 
Council  ?" 

"  So  I  understood,"  said  Lind.  "  But  it  was  not  my  life  that 
was  given  me  then  ? — only  the  lease  of  it  till  the  Council  should 
claim  it  again.     However  1" 

He  drew  himself  up,  and  the  powerful  face  was  full  of  de- 
cision. 

"  It  is  well,"  said  he.  "  I  do  not  complain.  If  I  exact  obedi- 
ence from  others,  I,  too,  obey.     The  Council  shall  be  served." 

"  Further  instructions  shall  be  given  you.  Meanwhile,  the 
Council  once  more  thank  you  for  your  attendance.  Farewell, 
brother !" 

"  Farewell,  brother  1" 


88  SUNRISE. 

When  lie  had  gone,  and  the  bell  again  rung,  Calabressa  reap- 
peared.    Lind  was  too  proud  a  man  to  betray  any  concern. 

"  It  is  as  you  told  me,  Calabressa,"  said  he,  carelessly,  as  his 
friend  proceeded  to  light  him  down  the  narrow  staircase.  "And 
I  am  charged  with  the  execution  of  their  vengeance.  "Well ;  I 
■wish  I  had  been  present  at  their  deliberations,  that  is  all.  This 
deed  may  answer  so  far  as  the  continental  countries  are  concern- 
ed; but,  so  far  as  England  is  concerned,  it  will  undo  the  work  of 
years." 

"  What !  —  England  !"  exclaimed  Calabressa,  lightly  —  "  where 
they  blow  up  a  man's  house  with  gunpowder,  or  dash  vitriol  in 
his  face,  if  he  works  for  a  shilling  a  day  less  wages?— where  they 
shoot  landlords  from  behind  hedges  if  the  rent  is  raised? — where 
they  murder  policemen  in  the  open  street,  to  release  political  pris- 
oners?    No,  no,  friend  Lind;  I  cannot  believe  that." 

"  However,  that  is  not  my  business,  Calabressa.  The  Council 
shall  be  obeyed.  I  am  glad  to  know  you  are  again  at  liberty ; 
when  you  come  to  England  you  will  see  how  your  little  friend 
Natalie  has  grown." 

"Give  a  kiss  from  me  to  the  little  Natalushka,"  said  he,  cheer- 
fully ;  and  then  the  two  parted. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

JACTA     EST     ALE  A, 


"  Natalie,"  said  her  father,  entering  the  breakfast-room,  "  I 
have  news  for  you  to-day.  This  evening  Mr.  Brand  is  to  be 
initiated." 

The  beautiful,  calm  face  betrayed  no  surprise. 

"That  is  always  the  way,"  she  answered,  almost  absently. 
"  One  after  the  other  they  go  in ;  and  I  only  am  left  out,  alone." 

"  What,"  he  said,  patting  her  shoulder  as  he  passed,  "  are  you 
still  dreaming  of  reviving  the  Giardiniere?  Well,  it  w^as  a  pretty 
idea  to  call  each  sister  in  the  lodge  by  the  name  of  a  flower.  But 
nowadays,  and  in  England  especially,  if  women  intermeddled  in 
such  things,  do  you  know  what  they  would  be  called  ?  Petro- 
leuses  r 


JACTA     EST    ALEA.  89 

"  Names  do  not  luirt,"  said  the  girl,  proudly. 

"  No,  no.  Rest  content,  Natalie.  You  are  initiated  far  enougb. 
You  know  all  that  needs  to  be  known  ;  and  you  can  work  with 
us,  and  associate  with  us  like  the  rest.  But  about  Brand;  are 
you  not  pleased  T' 

"  I  am  indeed  pleased,  papa." 

"And  I  am  more  than  i)lea.sed,"  said  Lind,  thoughtfully.  "  lie 
will  be  the  most  important  accession  we  have  had  for  many  a 
day.  Ah,  you  women  have  sharp  eyes;  but  there  are  some 
things  you  cannot  see — there  are  some  men  whose  character  yon 
cannot  read." 

Natalie  glanced  up  quickly  ;  and  her  father  noticed  that  sur- 
prised look. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  with  a  smile,  "  what  now  is  your  opinion  of 
Mr.  Brand  ?" 

Instantly  the  soft  eyes  were  cast  down  again,  and  a  faint  tinge 
of  color  appeared  in  her  face. 

"Oh,  my  opinion,  papa?"  said  she,  as  if  to  gain  time  to  choose 
her  words.  "  Well,  I  should  call  him  manly,  straightforward — 
and — and  very  kind — and — and  very  English — " 

"  I  understand  you  perfectly,  Natalie,"  her  father  said,  with  a 
laugh.  "  You  and  Lord  Evelyn  are  quite  in  accord.  Yes,  and 
you  are  both  thoroughly  mistaken.  You  mean,  by  bis  being  so 
English,  that  he  is  cold,  critical,  unsympathetic:  is  it  not  so? 
You  resent  his  being  cautious  about  joining  us.  You  think  he 
will  be  but  a  lukewarm  associate — suspecting  everything — fearful 
about  going  too  far — a  half-and-half  ally.  My  dear  Natalie,  that 
is  because  neither  Lord  Evelyn  nor  you  know  anything  at  all 
about  that  man." 

The  faint  color  in  the  girl's  checks  had  deepened ;  and  she 
remained  silent,  with  her  face  downcast. 

"  Tiie  pliable  ones,"  her  father  continued,  "the  people  who  are 
moved  by  fine  talking,  who  are  full  of  amiable  sentiments,  and 
who  take  to  work  like  ours  as  an  additional  sentiment — you  may 
initiate  a  thousand  of  them,  and  not  gain  an  atom  of  strength. 
It  is  a  hard  head  that  I  want,  and  a  strong  will ;  a  man  deter- 
mined to  have  no  illusions  at  the  outset ;  a  man  who,  once 
pledged,  will  not  despair  or  give  up  in  the  face  of  failure,  diffi- 
culty, or  disappointment,  or  anything  else.  Brand  is  such  a  man. 
If  I  were  to  be  disabled  to  -  morrow,  I  would  rather  leave  my 


90  ,  SUNRISE, 

work  in  his  hands  than  in  the  hands  of  any  man  I  have  seen  in 
this  country." 

"Was  it  to  hide  the  deepening  color  in  her  face  that  the  girl 
went  round  to  her  father,  and  stood  ratlier  beliind  him,  and  put 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  stooped  down  to  his  ear. 

"  Papa,"  said  she,  "  I — I  hope  you  don't  think  I  have  been 
saying  anything  against  Mr.  Brand.  Oh  no.  How  could  I  do 
that — when  he  has  been  so  kind  to  us — and — and  just  now  espe- 
cially, when  he  is  about  to  become  one  of  us  ?  You  must  forget 
what  I  said  about  his  being  English,  papa;  after  all,  it  is  not  for 
us  to  say  that  being  English  is  anything  else  than  being  kind,  and 
generous,  and  hospitable.  And  I  am  exceedingly  pleased  that 
you  have  got  another  associate,  and  that  we  have  got  another 
good  friend,  in  England." 

"  Alors,  as  Calabressa  would  say,  you  can  show  that  you  are 
pleased,  Natalie,"  her  father  said,  lightly,  "  by  going  and  writing 
a  pretty  little  note,  asking  your  new  friend,  Mr.  Brand,  to  dine 
with  us  to-night,  after  the  initiation  is  over.  And  I  will  ask  Eve- 
lyn, if  I  see  him." 

But  this  proposal  in  nowise  seemed  to  lessen  the  girl's  embar- 
rassment.    She  still  clung  about  the  back  of  her  father's  chair. 

"  I  would  rather  not  do  that,  papa,"  said  she,  after  a  second. 

"  Why  ?  why  ?"  said  he. 

"AVould  it  not  look  less  formal  for  you  to  ask  him,  papa? 
You  see,  it  is  once  or  twice  that  we  have  asked  him  to  dine  with 
us  without  giving  him  proper  notice — " 

"Oh,  that  is  nothing  —  nothing  at  all.  A  bachelor  with  an 
evening  disengaged  is  glad  enough  to  fill  it  up  anyhow.  Well, 
if  you  would  rather  not  write,  Natalie,  I  will  ask  him  myself." 

"  Thank  you,  papa,"  said  she,  apparently  much  relieved ;  and 
therewith  she  went  back  to  her  seat,  and  her  father  turned  to 
his  newspaper. 

The  day  passed,  and  the  evening  came.  As  six  o'clock  was 
striking,  George  Brand  presented  himself  at  the  little  door  in 
Lisle  Street,  Soho,  and  was  admitted.  Lind  had  already  assured 
him  that,  as  far  as  England  was  concerned,  no  idle  mummeries 
were  associated  with  the  ceremony  of  initiation ;  to  which  Brand 
had  calmly  replied,  that  if  mummeries  were  considered  neces- 
sary, he  was  as  ready  as  any  one  to  do  his  part  of  the  business. 
Only  he  added  that  he  thought  the  unknown  powers  had  acted 


JACTA    EST    ALE A.  91 

wisely  —  so  far  as  England  was  concerned  —  in  discarding  such 
things. 

AVlicn  Lc  entered  the  room,  bis  first  glance  round  was  reassur- 
ing. There  were  six  persons  present  besides  Lind,  and  they  did 
nut  at  all  suggest  the  typical  Leicester  Square  foreigner.  On  the 
contrary,  be  guessed  that  four  out  of  the  six  were  either  English 
or  Irish;  and  two  of  them  be  recognized,  though  they  were  un- 
known to  him  personally.  The  one  was  a  Home  Mule  M.P.,  fero- 
cious enough  in  the  House  of  Commons,  but  celebrated  as  the 
most  brilliant,  and  amiable,  and  fascinating  of  diners-out ;  the 
other  was  an  Oxford  don,  of  large  fortune  and  wildly  Radical 
views,  who  wrote  a  good  deal  in  the  papers.  There  Avas  a  mur- 
mur of  conversation  going  on,  which  ceased  as  Lind  briefly  intro- 
duced the  new-comer. 

The  ceremony,  if  ceremony  it  could  be  called,  was  simple 
enough.  The  candidate  for  admission  was  required  to  sign  a 
printed  document,  solemnly  pledging  himself  to  devote  bis  life, 
and  the  labor  of  his  bands  and  brain,  to  the  work  of  the  associ- 
ation ;  to  implicitly  obey  any  command  reaching  him  from  the 
Council,  or  communicated  through  an  officer  of  the  first  degree  ; 
and  to  preserve  inviolable  secrecy.  Brand  read  this  paper  through 
twice,  aud  signed  it.  It  was  then  signed  by  the  seven  witnesses. 
He  was  further  required  to  inscribe  his  signature  in  a  large  vol- 
ume, which  contained  a  list  of  members  of  a  particular  section. 
That  done,  the  six  strangers  present  shook  him  by  the  band,  and 
left. 

He  looked  round  surprised.  Had  be  been  dreaming  during 
these  brief  five  minutes  ?  Yet  be  could  bear  the  noise  of  their 
going  down-stairs. 

"AVell,"  said  Mr.  Lind,  with  a  smile,  "it  is  not  a  very  terri- 
ble ceremony,  is  it  ?  Did  you  expect  prostrations  at  the  altar ; 
and  blindfold  gropings,  and  the  blessing  of  the  dagger  ?  When 
you  come  to  know  a  little  more  of  our  organization,  of  its  extent 
and  its  power,  you  will  understand  bow  we  can  afford  to  dis- 
pense with  all  those  theatrical  ways  of  frightening  people  into 
obedience  and  secrecv." 

"  I  expected  to  find  Evelyn  here,"  said  George  Brand.  He 
was,  in  truth,  just  a  little  bit  bewildered  as  yet.  He  bad  been 
assured  that  there  would  be  no  foolish  mummeries  or  fantastic 
rites  of  initiation  ;  1)ut  all  the  same  be  had  been  much  occupied 


92  SUNKISE. 

with  tliis  step  he  was  about  to  take ;  he  had  been  thinking  of  it 
much ;  he  had  been  looking  forward  to  soraetliing  unknown  ;  and 
he  Lad  been  nerving  himself  to  encounter  whatever  might  come 
before  him.  But  that  five  minutes  of  silence ;  the  quick  reading 
and  signing  of  a  pajjer ;  the  sudden  disj^ersion  of  the  small  as- 
semblage: he  could  scarcely  believe  it  was  all  real. 

"  No,"  Lind  said,  "  Lord  Evelyn  is  not  yet  an  officer.  He  is 
only  a  Companion  in  the  third  degree,  like  yourself." 

"A  what?" 

"A  Companion  in  the  third  degree.  Surely  you  read  the  doc- 
ument that  you  signed  ?" 

It  was  still  lying  on  the  table  before  him.  He  took  it  up ; 
yes,  he  certainly  was  so  designated  there.  Yet  he  could  not  re- 
member seeing  the  .phrase,  though  he  had,  before  signing,  read 
every  word  twice  over. 

"And  now,  Mr.  Brand,"  his  companion  said,  seating  himself  at 
the  other  side  of  the  table,  "  when  you  have  got  over,  your  sur- 
prise that  there  should  be  no  ceremony,  it  will  become  my  duty 
to  give  you  some  idea  —  some  rough  idea  —  of  the  mechanism 
and  aims  of  our  association,  and  to  siiow  you  in  what  measure 
we  are  allied  with  other  societies.  The  details  you  will  become 
acquainted  with  by-and-by  ;  that  will  be  a  labor  of  time.  And 
you  know,  of  course,  or  you  have  guessed,  that  there  are  no  mys- 
teries to  be  revealed  to  you,  no  profound  religious  truths  to  be 
communicated,  no  dogmas  to  be  accepted.  I  am  afraid  we  are 
very  degenerate  descendants  of  the  Mystics,  and  the  Illuminati, 
and  all  the  rest  of  them ;  we  have  become  prosaic ;  our  wants  are 
sadly  material.  And  yet  we  have  our  dreams  and  aspirations,  too; 
and  the  virtues  that  we  exact — obedience,  temperance,  faith,  self- 
sacrifice — are  not  ignoble.  Meanwhile,  to  begin.  I  think  you 
may  prepare  yourself  to  be  astonished." 

But  astonishment  was  no  word  for  the  emotion  experienced  by 
the  newly  admitted  member  when  Ferdinand  Lind  proceeded  to 
give  him,  with  careful  facts  and  sober  computations,  some  rough 
outline  of  the  extent  and  power  of  this  intricate  and  far-reaching 
organization.  Hitherto  the  word  "  International  "  had  with  him 
been  associated  with  the  ridiculous  fiasco  at  Geneva;  but  here 
was  something,  not  calling  itself  international,  which  aimed  at 
nothing  less  than  knitting  together  the  multitudes  of  the  nations, 
not  only  in  Europe,  but  in  the  English  and  French  and  German 


JACTA    EST    ALEA,  93 

spealcitiGj  territories  beyond  the  seas,  in  a  solemn  leaGjnc — a  leai^uc 
for  .self-protection  and  mutual  understanding,  for  tlie  preservation 
of  international  peace,  the  spread  of  knowledge,  the  outbraving 
of  tyranny,  the  defiance  of  religious  intolerance,  the  relief  of  the 
oppressed,  the  lu'lp  of  the  poor,  and  the  sick,  and  the  weak. 
This  was  no  cutthroat  conspiracy  or  wild  scheme  of  confiscation 
and  [)lunder;  but  a  design  for  the  establishment  of  wide  and  be- 
neficent law — a  law  which  should  protect,  not  the  ambition  of  kings, 
not  the  pride  of  armies,  not  the  revenues  of  priests,  but  the  rights 
and  the  liberties  of  those  who  were  "darkening  in  labor  and  pain." 
And  this  message,  that  could  go  forth  alike  to  the  Camorristi  and 
the  Nihilists ;  to  the  Free  Masons  and  the  Good  Templars ;  to 
the  Trades- unionists  and  tlie  Knights  of  Labor  —  to  all  those 
masses  of  men  moved  by  the  spirit  of  co-operation — "  See,  broth- 
ers, what  we  have  to  show  you.  Some  of  you  are  aiming  at  chaos 
and  perdition  ;  others  putting  wages  as  their  god  and  sovereign ; 
others  content  with  a  vague  philanthropy  almost  barren  of  results. 
This  is  all  the  help  we  want  of  you — to  pledge  yourselves  to  as- 
sociate with  us,  to  accept  our  modest  programme  of  actual  needs, 
to  give  help  to  those  who  are  in  want  or  trouble,  to  promise  that 
you  will  stand  by  us  in  the  time  to  come.  And  when  the  time 
does  come;  when  we  are  combined;  when  knowledge  is  abroad, 
and  mutual  trust,  who  will  say  '  Yes '  if  the  voice  of  the  people 
in  every  nation  murmurs  '  No  V  What  priest  will  reimpose  the 
Inquisition  on  us;  what  king  drive  us  to  shed  blood  that  his 
robes  may  have  the  richer  dye;  what  policeman  in  high  places 
endeavor  to  stamp  out  our  God-given'  right  of  free  speech  ?  It  is 
so  little  for  you  to  grant ;  it  is  so  much  for  you,  and  for  us,  to 
gain !" 

These  were  not  the  words  he  uttered — for  Lind  spoke  English 
slowly  and  carefully — but  the}'  were  the  spirit  of  his  words. 
And  as  he  went  on  describing  to  this  new  member  what  had 
already  been  done,  what  was  being  done,  and  the  great  possibili- 
ties of  the  future,  Brand  began  to  wonder  whether  all  this  gigan- 
tic scheme,  with  its  simple,  bold,  and  practical  outlines,  were  the 
work  of  this  one  man.  He  ventured  by-and-by  to  hint  at  some 
such  question. 

"Mine?"  Lind  said,  frankly.  "All  no  I  nut  the  inspiration 
of  it.  I  am  only  the  mechanic  putting  brick  and  brick  togetlier; 
the  design  is  not  mine,  nor  that  of  anv  one  man.     It  is  an  aggre- 


9-4  SUNRISE, 

gate  project — a  speculation  occupying  many  a  long  hour  of  im- 
prisonment— a  scheme  to  be  handed  from  one  to  the  other,  with 
alterations  and  suggestions." 

"But  even  your  share  of  it  —  how  can  one  man  control  so 
much  V  Brand  said ;  for  he  easily  perceived  what  a  mass  of  de- 
tail had  to  pass  through  this  man's  hands. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  said  the  other.  "Because  every  stone  added 
to  the  building  is  placed  there  for  good.  There  is  no  looking 
back.  There  are  no  pacifications  of  revolt.  No  questions;  but 
absolute  obedience.  You  see,  we  exact  so  little  :  why  should  any 
one  rebel  ?  However,  you  will  learn  more  and  more  as  you  go 
on ;  and  soon  your  work  will  be  appointed  you.  Meanwhile,  I 
thank  you,  brother." 

Lind  rose  and  shook  his  hand. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  that  is  enough  of  business.  It  occurred  to 
me  this  morning  that,  if  you  had  nothing  else  to  do  this  evening, 
you  might  come  and  dine  with  us,  and  give  Natalie  the  chance  of 
meeting  you  in  your  new  character." 

"I  shall  be  most  pleased,"  said  Brand;  and  his  face  flushed. 

"I  telegraphed  to  Evelyn.  If  he  is  in  town,  perhaps  he  will 
join  us.     Shall  we  walk  home  ?" 

"  n  you  like." 

So  they  went  out  together  into  the  glare  and  clamor  of  the 
streets.  George  Brand's  heart  was  very  full  with  various  emo- 
tions ;  but,  not  to  lose  altogether  his  English  character,  he  pre- 
served a  somewhat  critical  tone  as  he  talked. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Lind,"  he  said,  "  so  far  as  I  can  see  and  hear,  your 
scheme  has  been  framed  not  only  with  great  ability,  but  also  with 
a  studied  moderation  and  wisdom.  The  only  point  I  would  urge 
is  this — that,  in  England,  as  little  as  possible  should  be  said  about 
kings  and  priests.  A  great  deal  of  what  you  said  would  scarcely 
be  understood  here.  You  see,  in  England  it  is  not  the  Crown 
nowadays  which  instigates  or  insists  on  war ;  it  is  Parliament 
and  the  people.  Dynastic  ambitions  do  not  trouble  us.  There 
is  no  reason  whatever  why  we  here  should  hate  kings  when  they 
are  harmless." 

"  You  are  right ;  the  case  is  diflEerent,"  Lind  admitted.  "  But 
that  makes  adhesion  to  our  programme  all  the  easier." 

"  I  was  only  speaking  of  the  policy  of  mentioning  things  which 
might  alarm  timid  people.     Then  as  for  the  priests ;  it  may  be 


JACTA    EST    ALEA.  95 

tlie  interest  of  the  priests  in  Ireland  to  keep  the  peasantry  if^no- 
rant ;  but  it  is  eertainly  not  so  in  Enghind.  The  Ciiurch  of  Eng- 
land fosters  education — " 

"Are  not  your  clergymen  the  bitterest  enemies  of  the  School 
Board  schools  ?" 

"Well,  they  may  dislike  seeing  education  dissociated  from  re- 
ligion— that  is  natural,  considering  what  they  believe;  but  they 
are  not  necessary  enemies  of  education.  Perhaps  I  am  a  very 
young  member  to  think  of  making  such  a  suggestion.  But  the 
truth  is,  that  when  an  ordinary  Englishman  hears  anything  said 
against  kings  and  priests,  he  merely  thinks  of  kings  and  priests 
as  he  knows  them — and  as  being  mostly  harmless  creatures  now- 
adays—  and  concludes  that  you  are  a  Communist  wanting  to 
overturn  society  altogether." 

"  Precisely  so.  I  told  Natalie  this  morning  that  if  she  were 
to  be  allowed  to  join  our  association  her  English  friends  would 
imagine  her  to  be  a  pctroleusey 

"  Miss  Lind  is  not  in  the  association  ?"  Brand  said,  quickly, 

"As  yet  no  women  have  been  admitted.  It  is  a  difficulty; 
for  in  some  societies  with  which  we  are  partly  in  alliance  women 
are  members.  Ah,  such  noble  creatures  many  of  them  are,  too ! 
However,  the  question  may  come  forward  by -and- by.  In  the 
mean  time,  Natalie,  without  being  made  aware  of  what  we  are 
actually  doing — that,  of  course,  is  forbidden — knows  something 
of  what  our  work  must  be,  and  is  warm  in  her  sympathy.  She 
is  a  good  help,  too :  she  is  the  quickest  translator  we  have  got." 

"  Do  you  think,"  Brand  said,  somewhat  timidly,  but  with  a 
frown  on  his  face,  "  that  it  is  fair  to  put  such  tedious  labor  on 
the  shoulders  of  a  young  girl  ?  Surely  there  are  enough  of  men 
to  do  the  work  ?" 

"You  shall  propose  that  to  her  yourself,"  Lind  said,  laughing. 

Well,  they  arrived  at  the  house  in  Curzon  Street,  and,  when 
they  went  up-stairs  to  the  drawing-room,  they  found  Lord  Eve- 
lyn there.  Natalie  Lind  came  forward — with  less  than  usual  of 
her  graciously  self-possessed  maimer — and  shook  hands  with  him 
briefly,  and  said,  with  averted  look, 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Brand." 

Now,  as  her  eyes  were  cast  down,  it  was  impossible  that  she 
could  have  noticed  the  quick  expression  of  disappointment  that 
crossed  his  face.     Was  it  that  she  herself  was  instantly  conscious 


96  SUNRISE. 

of  the  coldness  of  her  greeting,  and  anxious  to  atone  for  that? 
Was  it  that  she  phicked  up  heart  of  grace?  At  all  events,  she 
suddenly  ofiered  him  both  her  hands  with  a  frank  courage ;  she 
looked  hira  in  the  face  with  the  soft,  tender,  serious  eyes ;  and 
then,  before  she  turned  away,  the  low  voice  said, 
"  Brother,  I  welcome  you  !" 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

SOUTHWARD. 

After  a  late,  cold,  and  gloomy  spring,  a  glimpse  of  early  sum- 
mer shone  over  the  land;  and  after  a  long  period  of  anxious  and 
oftentimes  irritating  and  disappointing  travail — in  wet  and  dis- 
mal towns,  in  comfortless  inns,  with  associates  not  always  to  his 
liking  —  George  Brand  was  hurrying  to  the  South.  Ah,  the 
thought  of  it,  as  the  train  whirled  along  on  this  sunlit  morning! 
After  the  darkness,  the  light ;  after  fighting,  peace ;  after  the 
hard  task-work,  a  look,  a  smile  of  reward !  No  more  than  that 
was  his  hope ;  but  it  was  a  hope  that  kept  his  heart  afire  and 
glad  on  many  a  lonely  night. 

At  length  his  companion,  who  had  slept  steadily  on  since  ever 
they  had  entered  the  train  at  Carlisle,  at  about  one  in  the  morn- 
ing, awoke,  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  glanced  at  the  window. 

"  We  are  going  to  have  a  fine  day  at  last,  Humphreys,"  said 
Brand. 

"  Thev  have  been  having  better  weather  in  the  South,  sir." 
The  man  looked  like  a  well-dressed  mechanic.     He  had  an  in- 
telligent face,  keen  and  hard.     He  spoke  with  the  Newcastle  burr. 
"  I  wish  you  would  not  call  me  '  sir,'  "  Brand  said,  impatiently. 
"  It  comes  natural,  somehow,  sir,"  said  the  other,  with  great 
simplicity.     "  There  is  not  a  man  hi  any  part  of  the  country  but 
would  say  'sir'  to  one  of  the  Brands  of  Darlington.     When  Mr. 
Lind  telegraphed  to  me  you  were  coming  down,  I  telegraphed 
back,  '  Is  he  one  of  the  Brands  of  Darlington  V  and  when  I  got 
his  answer  I  said  to  myself,  '  Here  is  the  man  to  go  to  the  Polit- 
ical Committee  of  the  Trades-union  Congress:  they  won't  fight 
shy  of  liim.' " 

"  Well,  we  have  no  great  cause  to  grumble  at  what  has  been 


SOUTHWAKD.  97 

(lone  ill  tliat  direction  ;  but  that  infernal  Internationale  is  doing 
a  deal  of  luiscliief.  There  is  not  a  trades-unionist  in  the  country 
who  does  not  know  what  is  going  on  in  France.  A  handful  of 
irresponsible  madmen  trying  to  tack  themselves  on  to  the  work- 
men's association — well,  surely  the  men  will  have  more  sense  than 
to  listen.  The  conr/rhs  ouvrier  to  change  its  name,  and  to  become 
the  congrcs  revolutionnaire  !  When  1  tirst  went  to  Jackson,  Moly- 
ncux,  and  the  others,  I  found  they  had  a  sort  of  suspicion  that  we 
wanted  to  make  Communists  of  them  and  tear  society  to  pieces." 

"  You  have  done  more  in  a  couple  of  months,  sir,  than  we  all 
have  done  in  the  last  ten  years,"  his  companion  said. 

"  That  is  impossible.     Look  at — " 

He  named  some  names,  certain  of  them  well  known  enough. 

The  other  shook  his  head. 

"  Where  we  have  been  they  don't  believe  in  London  professors, 
and  speech-makers,  and  chaps  like  that.  They  know  that  the 
North  is  the  backbone  and  the  brain  of  England,  and  in  the 
North  they  want  to  be  spoken  to  by  a  North-countryman." 

"  I  am  a  Buckinghamshire  man.'' 

"That  may  be  where  you  live,  sir;  but  you  are  one  of  the 
Brands  of  Darlington,"  said  the  other,  doggedly. 

By-and-by  they  entered  the  huge,  resounding  station. 

"  Wliat  are  you  going  to  do  to-night,  Humphreys?  Come  and 
have  some  dinner  with  me,  and  we  will  look  in  afterward  at  the 
Century." 

Humphreys  looked  embarrassed  for  a  moment. 

"I  was  thinking  of  going  to  the  Coger's  Hall,  sir,"  said  he, 
hitting  upon  an  excuse.  "  I  have  beard  some  good  speaking 
there." 

"Mostly  bunkum,  isn't  it?" 

"  No,  siV." 

"All  right.  Then  I  shall  see  you  to-morrow  morning  in  Lisle 
Street.     Good-bye." 

He  jumped  into  a  hansom,  and  was  presently  rattling  away 
through  the  busy  streets.  How  sweet  and  fresh  was  the  air, 
even  here  in  the  midst  of  the  misty  and  ijolden  city  !  The  early 
summer  was  abroad ;  there  was  a  flush  of  green  on  the  trees  in 
the  squares.  When  he  got  down  to  the  Embankment,  he  was 
quite  surprised  by  the  beauty  of  the  gardens;  there  were  not 
many  gardens  in  the  towns  he  had  chiefly  been  living  in. 

5 


98  SUNRISE. 

lie  daslied  up  the  narrow  wooden  stairs. 

"  Look  alive  now,  Waters :  get  iny  bath  ready." 

"  It  is  ready,  sir." 

"Andbrealcfast!" 

"  Whenever  you  please,  sir." 

He  took  off  his  dust-smothered  travelling-coat,  and  was  about 
to  fling  it  on  the  couch,  when  he  saw  lying  there  two  pieces  of 
some  brilliant  stuff  that  were  strange  to  him. 

"  What  are  these  things  ?" 

"  They  were  left,  sir,  by  Mr. ,  of  Bond  Street,  on  approval. 

He  will  call  this  afternoon." 

"Tell  him  to  go  to  the  devil!"  said  Brand,  briefly,  as  he  walked 
off  into  his  bedroom. 

Presently  he  came  back. 

"  Stay  a  bit,"  said  he ;  and  he  took  up  the  two  long  strips  of 
silk-embroidered  stuff — Florentine  work,  probably,  of  about  the 
end  of  the  sixteenth  century.  The  ground  was  a  delicate  yellow- 
ish-gray, with  an  initial  letter  worked  in  various  colors  over  it. 

Mr. ,  of  Bond  Street,  knew  that  Brand  had  often  amused  his 

idle  hours  abroad  in  picking  up  things  like  this,  chiefly  as  pres- 
ents to  lady  friends,  and  no  doubt  thought  they  would  be  wel- 
come enough,  even  for  bachelors'  rooms. 

"  Tell  him  I  will  take  them." 

"  But  the  price,  sir  ?" 

"Ask  him  his  price;   beat  him  down;   and  keep  the  differ- 


ence." 


After  bath  and  breakfast  there  was  an  enormous  pile  of  corre- 
spondence awaiting  him ;  for  not  a  single  letter  referring  to  his 
own  affairs  had  been  forwarded  to  him  for  over  two  months. 
He  had  thrown  his  entire  time  and  care  into  his  work  in  the 
North.  And  now  that  these  arrears  had  to  be  cleared  off,  he  at- 
tacked the  business  with  an  obvious  impatience.  Formerly  he 
had  been  used  to  dawdle  over  his  letters,  getting  through  a  good 
portion  of  the  forenoon  with  them  and  conversations  with  Wa- 
ters about  Buckinghamshire  news.  Now,  even  with  that  omni- 
scient factotum  by  his  side,  his  progress  was  slow,  simply  because 
he  was  hurried.  He  made  dives  here  and  there,  without  system, 
without  settlement.  At  last,  looking  at  his  watch,  he  jumped 
up  :  it  was  half-past  eleven. 

"  Some  other  time,  Waters — some  other  time  ;  the  man  must 


SOUTUWARD.  99 

wait,"  he  said  to  the  astonislicd  but  patient  person  beside  him. 
"  If  Lord  Evelyn  calls,  tell  him  I  shall  look  in  at  the  Century 
to-night." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Some  half-hour  thereafter  he  was  standing  in  Park  Lane,  his 
heart  beating  somewhat  quiokly,  his  eyes  fixed  eagerly  on  two 
figures  that  were  crossing  the  thoroughfare  lower  down,  to  one 
of  the  gates  leading  into  Hyde  Park.  These  were  Natalie  Lind 
and  the  little  Auneli.  lie  had  known  that  he  would  see  her 
thus ;  he  had  imagined  the  scene  a  thousand  times ;  he  had  pict- 
ured to  himself  every  detail — the  trees,  the  tall  railings,  the  spring 
flowers  in  the  plots,  and  the  little  rosy-checked  German  girl  walk- 
ing by  her  mistress's  side;  and  yet,  now  that  this  familiar  thing 
had  come  true,  he  trembled  to  behold  it ;  lie  breathed  quickly  ; 
he  could  not  go  forward  to  her  and  hold  out  his  hand.  Slowly, 
for  they  were  walking  slowly,  he  went  along  to  the  gate  and  en- 
tered after  them  ;  cautiously,  lest  she  should  turn  suddenly  and 
confront  him  with  her  eyes ;  drawn,  and  yet  fearing  to  follow. 
She  was  talking  with  some  animation  to  her  companion ;  though 
even  in  this  profound  silence  he  could  not  hear  the  sound  of  her 
voice.  But  he  could  see  the  beautiful  oval  of  her  face ;  and 
sometimes,  when  she  turned  with  a  laugh  to  the  little  Anneli,  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  black  eyes  and  eyelashes,  the  smiling  lips 
and  brilliant  teeth ;  and  once  or  twice  she  put  out  the  palm  of 
her  right  hand  with  a  little  gesture  which,  despite  her  English 
dress,  would  have  told  a  stranger  that  she  was  of  foreign  ways. 
But  the  look  of  welcome,  the  smile  of  reward  that  he  had  been 
looking  forward  to  ? 

Well,  Mr.  Lind  was  in  America;  and  during  his  absence  his 
daughter  saw  but  few  visitors.  There  was  no  particular  reason 
why,  supposing  that  George  Brand  met  Xatalie  in  the  street,  he 
should  not  go  up  and  shake  hands  with  her;  and  many  a  time,  in 
these  mental  pictures  of  his  of  her  morning  walk  with  the  rosy- 
cheeked  Anneli,  he  imagined  himself  confronting  her  under  the 
shadow  of  the  trees,  and  perhaps  walking  some  way  with  her,  to 
listen  once  more  to  the  clear,  low  vibrations  of  lier  musical  voice. 
But  no  sooner  had  he  seen  her  come  into  Park  Lane — the  vision 
become  real — than  he  felt  he  could  not  go  up  antl  speak  to  her. 
If  he  had  met  her  by  accident,  perhaps  he  might ;  but  to  watch 
her,  to  entrap  her,  to  break  in  on  her  wishcd-for  isolation  under 


100  SUNRISE. 

false  pretences — all  that  he  suddenly  felt  to  be  impossible.  He 
could  follow  ber  with  his  heart;  but  the  sound  of  her  voice,  the 
touch  of  her  band,  tbe  smile  of  tbe  calm,  beautiful,  dark  eyes, 
were  as  remote  for  him  as  if  she,  too,  were  beyond  the  broad 
Atlantic. 

He  was  not  much  given  to  introspection  and  analysis;  during 
the  past  two  months  luore  especially  he  had  been  far  too  busy  to 
be  perpetually  ashing  "  Why  ?  why  ?" — the  vice  of  indolence.  It 
was  enough  that,  in  the  cold  and  the  wet,  there  was  a  fire  in  his 
heart  that  kept  him  glad  with  thinking  of  the  fair  days  to  come ; 
and  that,  in  the  foggy  afternoons  or  the  lonely  nights  when  he 
was  alone,  and  perhaps  despondent  or  impatient  over  the  stupid- 
ity or  contumacy  he  had  had  to  encounter,  there  came  to  him  tlie 
soft  murmur  of  a  voice  from  far  away — proud,  sad,  and  yet  full 
of  consolation  and  hope  : 

"  —But  ye  that  might  be  clothed  with  all  things  pleasant. 
Ye  are  foolish  that  put  off  the  fair  soft  present, 
That  clothe  yourselves  with  the  cold  future  air ; 

When  mother  and  father,  and  tender  sister  and  brother, 
And  the  old  live  love  that  was  shall  be  as  ye, 
Dust,  and  no  fruit  of  loving  life  shall  be. 

— She  shall  be  yet  who  is  more  than  all  these  were, 
Than  sister  or  wife  or  father  unto  us,  or  mother." 

He  could  hear  her  voice ;  he  could  see  the  beautiful  face  grow 
pale  with  its  proud  fervor ;  he  could  feel  the  soft  touch  of  her 
hand  when  she  came  forward  and  said,  "  Brother,  I  welcome 
you!" 

And  now  that  she  was  there  before  him,  the  gladness  in  his 
heart  at  the  mere  sight  of  her  was  troubled  with  a  trembling  fear 
and  pain.  She  was  but  a  stone's-throw  in  front  of  him  ;  but  she 
seemed  far  away.  The  world  was  young  around  her ;  and  she 
belonged  to  the  time  of  youth  and  of  hope ;  life,  that  he  had 
been  ready  to  give  up  as  a  useless  and  aimless  thing,  was  only 
opening  out  before  her,  full  of  a  thousand  beauties,  and  wonders, 
and  possibilities.  If  only  he  could  have  taken  her  hand,  and 
looked  into  her  eyes,  and  claimed  that  smile  of  welcome,  he 
would  have  been  nearer  to  her.  Surely,  in  one  thing  at  least  they 
were  in  sympathy.  There  was  a  bond  between  them.  If  the 
past  had  divided  them,  the  future  would  bring  them  more  to- 


SOUTIIWAKI).  101 

gethcr.     Did  not  the  Pil^jriins  go  by  in  bands,  until  death  struck 
down  its  victims  here  and  thci 


} 


NataHe  knew  nothing  of  all  this  vague  longing,  and  doubt,  and 
pain  in  the  breast  of  one  who  was  so  near  her.  She  was  in  a 
gay  mood.  The  morning  w;,s  beautiful ;  the  soft  wind  after  the 
rain  brouo-ht  whiffs  of  scent  from  the  distant  rose-red  hawthorn. 
Though  she  was  here  under  shadow  of  the  trees,  the  sun  beyond 
shone  on  the  fresh  and  moist  grass ;  and  at  the  end  of  the  glades 
there  were  glimpses  of  brilliant  color  in  the  foliage — the  golden 
glow  of  the  laburnum,  the  lilac  blaze  of  the  rhododendron  bushes. 
And  how  still  the  place  was !  Far  off  there  was  a  dull  roar  of  car- 
riages in  Piccadilly  ;  but  here  there  was  nothing  but  the  bleating  of 
the  sheep,  the  chirp  of  the  young  birds,  the  stir  of  the  wind  among 
the  elms.     Sometimes  he  could  now  catch  the  sound  of  her  voice. 

She  was  in  a  g^y  humor.  When  she  got  to  the  Serpentine — 
the  north  bank  was  her  favorite  promenade :  she  could  see  on  the 
other  side,  just  below  the  line  of  leaves,  the  people  passing  and 
repassing  on  horseback ;  but  she  was  not  of  them — she  found  a 
number  of  small  and  ragged  urchins  wading.  They  had  no  boat; 
but  they  had  the  bung  of  a  barrel,  which  served,  and  that  they 
were  pusliing  through  the  water  with  twigs  and  sticks ;  their 
shapeless  boots  they  had  left  on  the  bank.  Now,  as  it  seemed  to 
Brand,  who  w'as  watching  from  a  distance,  she  planned  a  scheme. 
Anneli  was  seen  to  go  ahead  of  the  boys,  and  speak  to  them. 
Their  attention  being  thus  distracted,  the  young  mistress  stepped 
rapidly  down  to  the  tattered  boots,  and  dropped  something  in 
each.  Then  she  withdrew,  and  was  rejoined  by  her  maid;  they 
walked  away  without  waiting  to  see  the  result  of  their  machina- 
tions. But  George  Brand,  following  by-and-by,  heard  one  of  the 
urchins  call  out  with  wonder  that  he  had  found  a  penny  \r\  his 
shoe ;  and  this  extraordinary  piece  of  news  brought  back  his  com- 
rades, who  rather  mechanically  began  to  examine  their  foot-gear 
too.  And  then  the  amazement ! — and  the  looks  around  ! — and 
the  examination  of  the  pence,  lest  that  treasure  should  vanish 
away  !     Brand  went  up  to  them. 

"  Look  here,  you  young  stupids ;  don't  you  see  that  tall  lady 
away  along  there  by  the  boat-house  —  why  don't  you  go  and 
thank  her r 

But  they  were  either  too  shy  or  too  incredulous ;  so  he  left 
them.     He  did  not  forget  the  incident. 


102  SUNRISE. 

Perhaps  it  was  that  tlie  heavens  had  grown  dark  in  the  south- 
west, threatening  a  shower;  butj  at  all  events,  Natalie  soon  turned 
and  set  out  on  her  homeward  way,  giving  tliis  unknown  spy  some 
trouble  to  escape  observation.  But  when  she  had  passed,  he  again 
followed,  now  with  even  greater  unrest  and  pain  at  his  heart.  For 
would  not  she  soon  disappear,  and  the  outer  world  grow  empty, 
and  the  dull  hours  have  to  be  faced?  He  had  come  to  London 
with  such  hope  and  gladness;  now  the  very  sunlight  was  to  be 
taken  out  of  his  life  by  the  shutting  of  a  door  in  Curzon  Street. 

Fate,  however,  was  kinder  to  him  than  he  had  dared  to  hope. 
As  Natalie  was  returning  home,  he  ventured  to  draw  a  little  nearer 
to  her,  but  still  with  the  greatest  caution,  for  he  would  have  been 
overcome  with  shame  if  she  had  detected  him  dogging  her  foot- 
steps in  this  aimless,  if  innocent,  manner.  And  now  that  she  had 
got  close  to  her  own  door,  he  had  drawn  nearer  still  —  on  the 
other  side  of  the  street;  he  so  longed  to  catch  one  more  glimpse 
of  the  dark  eyes  smiling,  and  the  mobile,  proud  mouth.  But  just 
as  the  door  was  being  opened  from  within,  a  man  who  had  evi- 
dently been  watching  his  chance  thrust  himself  before  the  two 
women,  barring  their  way,  and  proceeded  to  address  Natalie  in  a 
vehement,  gesticulating  fashion,  with  much  clinching  of  his  fists 
and  throwing  out  of  his  arms.  Anneli  had  shrunk  back  a  step, 
for  the  man  was  uncouth  and  unkempt;  but  her  young  mistress 
stood  erect  and  firm,  confronting  the  beggar,  or  madman,  or  who- 
ever he  was,  without  the  slightest  sign  of  fear. 

This  was  enough  for  George  Brand.  lie  Avas  not  thrustin-T^ 
himself  unfairly  on  her  seclusion  if  he  interposed  to  protect  her 
from  menace.     Instantly  he  crossed  the  road. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  What  do  you  want?"  This  was  what  he  said ; 
but  what  he  did  was  to  drive  the  man  back  a  couple  of  yards. 

A  hand  was  laid  on  his  arm  quickly. 

"He  is  in  trouble,"  Natalie  said,  calmly.  "He  wants  to  see 
papa ;  he  has  come  a  long  way ;  he  does  not  understand  that 
papa  is  in  America.  If  you  could  only  convince  him —  But  you 
do  not  talk  Russian." 

"  I  can  talk  Eno-Hsh,"  said  Brand,  reijardino:  the  maniac-look- 
ing  person  before  him  with  angry  brows.  "  Will  you  go  in- 
doors. Miss  Lind,  and  leave  him  to  me.  I  will  talk  an  English  to 
him  that  he  will  understand." 

"  Is  that  the  way  you  answer  an  appeal  for  help  V  said  she. 


A    RUSSIAN    EPISODE.  103 

with  gentle  reproof.  "  The  man  is  in  trouble.  If  I  persuade 
hhn  tu  go  witii  you,  will  you  take  hiui  to  papa's  cluunbers  ? 
Either  Deratinsky  or  lleinrich  Ueitzei  will  be  there." 

"  Reitzei  is  there." 

"He  will  hear  what  this  man  has  to  say.  Will  you  be  so 
kind  ?" 

"I  will  do  anything  to  rid  you  of  this  fellow,  who  looks  more 
like  a  madman  than  a  beggar." 

She  stepped  forward  and  spoke  to  the  man  again — her  voice 
sounded  gentle  and  persuasive  to  Brand,  in  this  tongue  which  ho 
could  not  understand.  When  she  had  finished,  the  uncouth  per- 
son in  the  tattered  garments  dropped  on  both  knees  on  the  pave- 
ment, and  took  her  hand  in  his,  and  kissed  it  in  passionate  grati- 
tude.    Then  he  rose,  and  stood  with  his  cap  in  his  hand. 

"  He  will  go  with  you.  I  am  so  sorry  to  trouble  you,  Mr. 
Brand ;  and  I  have  not  even  said,  '  How  do  you  do  V  " 

To  hear  this  beautiful  voice  after  so  long  a  silence — to  find 
those  calm,  dark,  friendly  eyes  regarding  him — bewildered  him, 
or  gave  him  courage,  he  knew  not  which.  He  said  to  her,  with 
a  quick  flush  on  his  forehead, 

"  May  I  come  back  to  tell  you  how  I  succeed  ?" 

She  only  hesitated  for  a  second. 

"  If  you  have  time.     If  you  care  to  take  the  trouble." 

He  carried  away  with  him  the  look  of  her  face — that  filled  his 
heart  with  sunlight.  In  the  hansom,  into  which  he  bundled  his 
unkempt  companion,  if  only  he  had  known  enough  Russian,  he 
would  have  expressed  gratitude  to  him.  Beggar  or  maniac,  or 
whatever  he  was,  had  he  not  been  the  means  of  procuring  for 
George  Brand  that  long-coveted,  long-dreamed-of  smile  of  wel- 
come? 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A     RUSSIAN     EPISODE, 


"  Is  that  the  way  you  answer  an  appeal  for  help  ?"  With  that 
gentle  protest  still  lingering  in  his  ear,  he  was  not  inclined  to  be 
hard  on  this  unfortunate  wretch  who  was  in  the  cab  with  him  ; 
and  yet  at  the  same  time  he  was  resolved  to  prevent  any  repeti- 
tion of  the  scene  he  had  just  witnessed.     And  at  last  he  discov- 


104  SUNRISE. 

ered  that  tlie  man  had  picked  np  in  liis  wanderings  a  little  Ger- 
man. His  own  German  was  not  first-rate ;  it  was  fluent,  forcible, 
and  accurate  enough,  so  far  as  hotels  and  railway-stations  were 
concerned ;  elscwliere  it  had  a  tendency  to  halt,  blunder,  and 
double  back  on  itself.  But,  at  all  events,  he  managed  to  convey 
to  his  companion  the  distinct  intimation  that  any  further  trou- 
blino-  of  that  young  lady  would  only  procure  for  hira  a  broken 
head. 

The  dull,  stupid,  savage  -  looking  face  betrayed  no  sign  of  in- 
telligence, lie  repeated  the  warning  again  and  again ;  and  at 
last,  at  the  phrase  "  that  young  lady,"  the  dazed  small  eyes  lit 
up  somewhat,  and  the  man  clasped  his  hands. 

"  Ein  Engel !"  he  said,  apparently  to  himself.  "  Ein  Engel — 
ein  Engel !     Ach  Gott — wie  schon — wie  gemiithlich  !" 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,"  Brand  said,  "  that  is  all  very  well ;  but  one  is 
not  permitted  to  annoy  angels  —  to  trouble  them  in  the  street. 
Do  you  understand  that  that  means  punishment — one  must  be 
punished — if  one  returns  to  the  house  of  that  young  lady  ?  Do 
vou  understand  ?" 

The  man  regarded  him  with  the  small,  deep-set  eyes  again 
sunk  into  apathy. 

"  Ihr  Diener,  Herr,"  said  he,  submissively. 

"  You  understand  you  are  not  to  go  back  to  the  house  of  the 
young  lady  ?" 

"  Ihr  Diener,  Herr." 

There  was  nothing  to  be  got  out  of  him,  or  into  him  ;  so  Brand 
waited  until  he  should  get  the  help  of  Heinrich  Reitzei,  Lind's 
locum  tenens. 

Reitzei  was  in  the  chambers — at  Lind's  table,  in  fact.  Pie  was 
a  man  of  about  twenty-eight  or  thirty,  slim  and  dark,  with  a  per- 
fectly pallid  face,  a  small  black  mustache  carefully  waxed,  and  an 
affectedly  courteous  smile.  He  wore  a  pince-nez ;  was  fond  of 
slang,  to  show  his  familiarity  with  English;  and  aimed  at  an 
English  manner,  too.  lie  seemed  bored.  He  regarded  this  man 
whom  Brand  introduced  to  him  without  surprise,  with  indiffer- 
ence. 

"  Hear  what  this  fellow  has  to  say,"  Brand  said,  "  will  you  ? 
and  give  him  distinctly  to  understand  that  if  he  tries  again  to 
see  Miss  Lind,  I  will  break  his  head  for  him.  What  idiot  could 
have  given  him  Lind's  private  address?" 


A    RUSSIAN    EPISODE.  105 

The  man  was  standing  near  the  door,  stolid  apparently,  but 
with  his  small  eyes  keenly  watching.  Reitzei  said  a  word  or  two 
to  him.  Instantly  he  went — he  ahnost  sprung — forward;  and 
this  movement  was  so  unexpected  that  the  equanimity  of  the  pal- 
lid young  man  received  a  visible  shock,  and  he  hastily  drew  out 
a  drawer  a  few  inches.  Brand  caught  sight  of  the  handle  of  a 
revolver. 

But  the  man  was  only  eager  to  tell  his  story,  and  presently 
Reitzei  had  resumed  his  air  of  indifference.  As  he  proceeded  to 
translate  for  Brand's  benefit,  in  interjectional  phrases,  what  this 
man  with  the  trembling  hands  and  the  burning  eyes  was  saying, 
it  was  stranofe  to  mark  the  contrast  between  the  two  men. 

"His  name  Kirski,"  the  younger  man  was  saying,  as  he  eyed, 
with  a  cool  and  critical  air,  the  wild  look  in  the  other's  face, 
"A  carver  in  wood,  but  cannot  work  now,  for  his  hands  tremble, 
through  hunger  and  fatigue — through  drink,  I  should  say — na- 
tive of  small  village  in  Kiev — had  his  share  of  tbe  Communal 
land — but  got  permission  from  the  Commune  to  spend  part  of 
the  year  in  Kiev  itself — sent  back  all  his  taxes  duly,  and  money 
too,  because — oh,  this  is  it? — daughter  of  village  Elder — young, 
beautiful,  of  course — left  an  orphan,  with  three  brothers  —  and 
their  share  of  the  land  too  much  for  them.  Ah,  this  is  the  story, 
then,  my  friend  ?  Married,  too — young,  beautiful,  good — yes,  yes, 
Ave  know  all  that — " 

There  were  tears  running  dcnvn  the  face  of  the  other  man. 
But  these  he  shook  away ;  and  a  wilder  light  than  ever  came 
into  his  eyes. 

"  He  goes  to  Kiev  as  usual,  foolish  fellow ;  now  I  see  what  all 
the  row  is  about.  When  he  returns,  three  months  after,  he  goes 
to  his  house.  Empty.  The  neighbors  will  not  speak.  At  last 
one  says  something  about  Pavel  Michaieloff,  the  great  proprietor, 
whose  house  and  farm  arc  some  versts  away — my  good  fellow, 
you  have  got  the  palsy,  or  is  it  drink? — he  goes  and  seeks  out 
the  house  of  Pavel — yes,  yes,  the  story  is  not  new — Pavel  is  at 
the  open  window,  smoking — he  goes  up  to  the  window — there  is  a 
woman  inside — when  she  sees  him  she  utters  a  loud  scream,  and 
rushes  for  protection  to  the  man  Michaieloff — then  all  the  fat  is 
in  the  fire  naturally — " 

The  Russian  choked  and  gasped  ;  drops  of  perspiration  stood 
on  his  forehead ;  he  looked  wildly  around. 

5* 


106  SUNRISE. 

"  Water  ?"  said  Reitzei.  "  Poor  devil,  you  need  some  water  to 
cool  down  your  excitement.  You  are  making  as  much  fuss  as  if 
that  kind  of  thing  had  never  happened  in  the  world  before." 

But  he  rose  and  got  him  some  water,  which  the  man  drained 
eagerly ;  then  he  continued  his  story  with  the  same  fierce  and 
angry  vehemence. 

"  Well,  yes,  he  had  something  to  complain  of,  certainly,"  Reit- 
zei said,  translating  all  that  incoherent  passion  into  cool  little 
phrases.  "  Not  a  fair  fight.  Pavel  summons  his  men  from  the 
court-yard — men  with  whips — dogs,  too — he  is  lashed  and  driven 
along  the  roads,  and  the  dogs  tear  at  him !  Oh  yes,  m}^  good 
friend,  you  have  been  badly  used ;  but  you  have  come  a  long 
way  to  tell  your  story.  I  must  ask  him  how  the  mischief  he  got 
here  at  all." 

But  here  Reitzei  paused  and  stared.  Something  the  man  said 
—  in  an  eager,  low  voice,  with  his  sunken  small  eyes  all  afire — 
startled  him  out  of  his  critical  air. 

"  Oh,  that  is  it,  is  it?"  he  said,  eying  him.  "  He  will  do  any- 
thing for  us — he  will  commit  a  murder — ten  murders — if  only 
we  give  him  money,  a  knife,  and  help  to  kill  the  man  Michaielotf. 
Well,  he  is  a  lively  sort  of  person  to  let  loose  on  society." 

"  The  man  is  clearly  mad,"  Brand  said. 

"  The  man  was  madder  who  sent  him  to  us,"  Reitzei  answered. 
"I  should  not  like  to  be  in  his  shoes  if  Lind  hears  that  this  ma- 
niac was  allowed  to  see  his  daughter." 

The  wretched  creature  standing  there  glanced  eagerly  from  one 
to  the  other,  with  the  eyes  of  a  wild  animal,  seeking  to  gather 
something  from  their  looks ;  then  he  went  forward  to  the  table, 
and  stooped  down  and  spoke  to  Reitzei  still  further,  in  the  same 
low,  fierce  voice,  his  whole  frame  meanwhile  shaking  with  his  ex- 
citement. Reitzei  said  something  to  him  in  reply,  and  motioned 
him  back.  He  retired  a  step  or  two,  and  then  kept  watching  the 
faces  of  the  two  men. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him  ?"  Brand  said. 

Reitzei  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  know  what  I  should  like  to  do  with  him  if  I  dared,"  he 
said,  with  a  graceful  smile.  "  There  is  a  friend  of  mine  ^lot  a 
hundred  miles  away  from  tliJit  very  Kiev  who  wants  a  little 
admonition.  Her  name  is  Petrovna ;  she  is  the  jail  -  matron 
of  a  female  penitentiary ;  she  is  just  a  little  too  fierce  at  times. 


A    RUSSIAN    EPISODE.  107 

Murderers,  thieves,  prostitutes :  oh  yes,  she  can  be  civil  cnouf,^h 
to  tlieiii ;  but  let  a  political  prisoner  come  near  her — one  of  her 
own  sex,  mind — and  she  becomes  a  devil,  a  tigress,  a  vampire. 
Ah,  Madame  Petrovna  and  I  may  have  a  little  reckoning  some 
day.  I  have  asked  Lind  again  and  again  to  petition  for  a  de- 
cree against  her;  but  no,  he  will  not  move;  he  is  becoming  An- 
glicized, effeminate." 

"  A  decree  ?''  Brand  said. 

The  other  smiled,  with  an  affectation  of  calm  superiority. 

"You  will  learn  by -and -by.  Meanwhile,  if  I  dared,  what  I 
should  like  to  do  would  be  to  give  our  friend  here  [)lenty  of 
money,  and  not  one  but  two  knives,  saying  to  him,  '  My  good 
friend,  here  is  one  knife  for  Miehaieloff,  if  you  like ;  but  first  of 
all  here  is  this  knife  for  that  angel  in  disguise,  Madame  Petrov- 
na, of  the  Female  Penitentiary  in  Novolevsk.  Strike  sure  and 
lianl  r  " 

For  one  instant  his  affectation  forsook  him,  and  there  was  a 
gleam  in  his  eyes.  This  was  but  a  momentary  relapse  from  his 
professed  indifference. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Brand,  I  suppose  I  must  take  over  this  madman 
from  vou.     You  may  tell  Miss  Lind  she  need  not  be  frightened." 

"  I  should  not  think  Miss  Lind  was  in  the  habit  of  being  fright- 
ened," said  Brand,  coldly. 

"  Ah,  no ;  doubtless  not.  Well,  I  shall  see  that  this  fellow 
does  not  trouble  her  again.  What  fine  tidings  we  had  of  your 
work  in  the  North  !  You  have  been  a  power ;  you  have  moved 
mountains." 

"1  have  moved  John  Molyncux,"  said  P>rand,  with  a  laugh; 
"  and  in  these  days  that  is  a  more  difficult  business." 

"  Fine  news  from  Spain,  too,"  said  Reitzei,  glancing  at  some 
letters.  "From  Valladol id,  Barcelona,  Ferrol,  Saragossa — all  the 
same  story  :  coalition,  coalition.  Salmero  will  be  in  London  next 
week." 

"  But  you  have  not  told  me  what  you  are  going  to  do  with 
this  man  yet ;  you  must  stow  the  combustible  piece  of  goods 
somewhere.  Poor  devil,  his  sufferings  have  made  a  pitiable  ob- 
ject of  him." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  Reitzei,  "  you  don't  suppose  that  a 
Russian  peasant  would  feel  so  deeply  a  beating  with  whips,  or 
the  worrvinsi  of  dofjs,  or  even  the  loss  of  his  wife  ?     Of  course, 


108  SUNRISE. 

coming  all  together,  it  was  something  of  a  hard  grind.  He  must 
liave  been  constitutionally  insane,  and  that  woke  the  whole  thing 
up." 

"Then  he  should  bo  confined.     lie  is  a  lunatic  at  large." 

"  I  don't  think  he  would  harm  anybody,"  Keitzei  said,  regard- 
ing the  man  as  if  he  were  a  strange  animal.  "I  would  not  shut 
up  a  dog  in  a  lunatic  asylum  ;  I  would  rather  put  a  bullet  through 
his  head.  And  this  fellow — if  we  could  humbug  him  a  little,  and 
get  him  to  his  work  again — I  know  a  man  in  Wardour  Street 
who  would  do  that  for  me — and  see  what  effect  the  amassing  of 
a  little  English  money  might  have  on  him.  Better  a  miser  than 
a  wild  beast.  And  he  seems  a  submissive  sort  of  creature.  Leave 
him  to  me,  Mr.  Brand." 

Brand  began  to  think  a  little  better  of  Reitzei,  whom  hitherto 
he  had  rather  disliked.  He  handed  him  five  pounds,  to  get  some 
clothes  and  tools  for  the  man,  who,  when  he  was  told  of  this  gen- 
erosity, turned  to  Brand  and  said  something  to  him  in  Russian 
which  set  Reitzei  laughing. 

"  What  is  it  he  says  ?" 

"  He  said, '  Little  Father,  you  are  worthy  to  become  the  hus- 
band of  the  angel :  may  the  day  come  soon !'  I  suppose  the 
angel  is  Miss  Lind ;  she  must  have  been  very  kind  to  the  man." 

"She  only  spoke  to  him;  but  lier  voice  can  be  kind,"  said 
Brand,  rather  absently,  and  then  he  left. 

Away  went  the  hansom  back  to  Curzon  Street.  He  said  to 
himself  that  it  was  not  for  nothing  that  this  unfortunate  wretch 
Kirski  had  wandered  all  the  way  from  the  Dnieper  to  the  Thames. 
He  would  look  after  this  man.  He  would  do  something  for  hira. 
Five  pounds  only  ?  And  he  had  been  the  means  of  securing  this 
interview,  if  only  for  three  or  four  minutes;  after  the  long  period 
of  labor  and  hope  and  waiting  he  might  have  gone  without  a 
word  at  all  but  for  this  over-troubled  poor  devil. 

And  now — now  he  might  even  see  her  alone  for  a  couple  of 
minutes  in  the  hushed  little  drawing-room ;  and  she  might  say 
if  she  had  heard  about  what  had  been  done  in  the  North,  and 
about  his  eagerness  to  return  to  the  work.  One  look  of  thanks ; 
that  was  enough.  Sometimes,  by  himself  up  there  in  the  solita- 
ry inns,  the  old  fit  had  come  over  hira  ;  and  he  had  laughed  at 
himself,  and  wondered  at  this  new  fire  of  occupation  and  interest 
that  was  blazing  through  his  life,  and  asked  himself,  as  of  old,  to 


A   RUSSIAN    EPISODE.  109 

what  end  —  to  what  end?  But  when  lie  heard  Natalie  Lind's 
voice,  there  was  a  quick  good-bye  to  all  questioning.  One  look 
at  the  calm,  earnest  eyes,  and  he  drank  deep  of  faith,  courage, 
devotion.  And  surely  this  story  of  the  man  Kirski — what  he 
could  tell  her  of  it — would  he  sufficient  to  fill  up  five  minutes, 
eight  minutes,  ten  minutes,  while  all  the  time  he  should  be  able 
to  dwell  on  her  eyes,  whether  they  were  downcast,  or  turned  to 
his  with  their  frank,  soft  glance.  He  sliould  be  in  the  perfume 
of  the  small  drawino'-room.  lie  would  see  the  Roman  necklace 
Mazzini  had  given  her  gleam  on  her  bosom  as  she  breathed. 

lie  did  not  know  what  Natalie  Lind  had  been  about  duiins: 
his  absence. 

"  Anncli,  Anneli — hither,  child  !"  she  called  in  German.  "  Run 
up  to  Madame  Potecki,  and  ask  her  to  come  and  spend  the  after- 
noon with  me.  She  must  come  at  once,  to  lunch  with  me ;  I 
will  wait." 

"  Yes,  Fraulein.     AVhat  music,  Friiulcin  ?" 

"  None ;  never  mind  any  music.     But  she  must  come  at  once." 

"Scbon,  Fraulein,"  said  the  little  Anneli,  about  to  depart. 

Her  young  mistress  called  her  back,  and  paused,  with  a  little 
hesitation. 

"  You  may  tell  Elizabeth,"  said  she,  with  an  indifferent  air, 
"  that  jt  is  possible — it  is  quite  possible — it  is  at  least  possible — 
I  may  have  two  friends  to  lunch  with  me ;  and  she  must  send  at 
once  if  she  wants  anything  more.  And  you  could  bring  me  back 
some  fresh  flowers,  Anneli?" 

"  Why  not,  Fraulein  ?" 

"  Go  quick,  then,  Anncli — fly  like  a  young  roe — durch  Wald 
und  auf  der  Haide  /" 

And  so  it  came  about  that  when  George  Brand  was  ushered 
into  the  scented  little  drawing-room  —  so  anxious  to  make  the 
most  of  the  invaluable  minutes  —  he  found  himself  introduced 
first  of  all  to  Madame  Potecki,  a  voluble,  energetic  little  Polish 
gentlewoman,  whose  husband  had  been  killed  in  the  Warsaw 
disturbances  of  '61,  and  who  now  supported  herself  in  London 
by  teaching  music.  She  was  eager  to  know  all  about  the  man 
Kirski,  and  hoped  that  he  was  not  wholly  a  maniac,  and  trusted 
that  Mr.  Brand  would  sec  that  her  dear  child — her  adopted  da\igh- 
ter,  she  might  say — was  not  terrified  again  by  the  madman. 

"  My  dear  madame,"  said  Brand,  "  you  must  not  imagine  that 


110  SUNRISE. 

it  was  from  terror  that  Miss  Lind  handed  over  the  man  to  me — 
it  was  from  kindness.     That  is  more  natural  to  her  than  terror." 

"  Ah,  I  know  tlie  dear  child  has  the  courage  of  an  army,"  said 
the  Uttle  old  lady,  tapping  her  adopted  daughter  on  the  shoulder 
with  the  fan.  "  But  she  must  take  care  of  herself  while  her  papa 
is  away  in  America." 

Natalie  rose ;  and  of  course  Brand  rose  also,  with  a  sudden 
qualm  of  disappointment,  for  he  took  that  as  the  signal  of  his 
dismissal ;  and  he  had  scarcely  spoken  a  word  to  her. 

"  Mr.  Brand,"  said  she,  with  some  little  trifle  of  embarrassment, 
"  I  know  I  must  have  deprived  you  of  your  luncheon.  It  was 
V'O  kind  of  you  to  go  at  once  with  the  poor  man.  Would  it  save 
you  time — if  you  are  not  going  anywhere — I  thought  perhaps 
vou  mio-ht  come  and  have  something  with  madarae  and  mvself. 
Yon  must  be  dying  of  hunger." 

He  did  not  refuse  the  invitation.  And  behold  I  when  he  went 
down-stairs,  the  table  was  already  laid  for  three ;  had  he  been  ex- 
pected, he  asked  himself  ?  Those  flowers  there,  too  :  he  knew  it 
was  no  maid-servant's  fingers  that  had  arranged  and  distributed 
them  so  skilfully. 

How  he  blessed  this  little  Polish  lady,  and  her  volubility, 
and  her  extravagant,  subtle,  honest  flattery  of  her  dear  adopted 
daughter!  It  gave  him  liberty  to  steep  liimself  in  the  rioli  con- 
sciousness of  Natalie's  presence ;  he  could  listen  in  silence  for  the 
sound  of  her  voice — he  could  covertly  watch  the  beauty  of  her 
shapely  hands — without  being  considered  preoccupied  or  morose. 
All  he  had  to  do  was  to  say,  "  Yes,  madame,"  or  "  Indeed,  ma- 
dame,"  the  while  he  knew  that  Natalie  Lind  was  breathing  the 
same  air  with  him — that  at  any  moment  the  large,  lustrous  dark 
eyes  might  look  up  and  meet  his.  And  she  spoke  little,  too; 
and  had  scarcely  her  usual  frank  self-confidence:  perhaps  a 
chance  reference  of  Madame  Potecki  to  the  fact  that  her  adopt- 
ed daughter  had  been  brought  up  without  a  mother  had  some- 
what saddened  her. 

The  room  was  shaded  in  a  measure,  for  the  French  silk  blinds 
were  down  ;  but  there  was  a  soft  golden  glow  prevailing  all  the 
same.  For  many  a  day  George  Brand  remembered  that  little 
luncheon-party;  the  dull,  bronze  glow  of  the  room;  the  flowers; 
the  soft,  downcast  eyes  opposite  him  ;  the  bright,  pleasant  gar- 
rulity of  the  little  Polish  lady;  and  always — ah,  the  delight  of 


NEW    FRIENDS.  Ill 

it!  —  that  strange,  trcmblinp:,  sweet  consciousness  that  Natalie 
Lind  was  listening  as  liu  listened — that  almost  he  could  have 
heard  the  beating  of  her  heart. 

And  a  hundred  and  a  hundred  times  he  swore  that,  whoever 
throughout  the  laboring  and  suffering  world  might  regret  that 
day,  the  man  Kirski  should  not. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

NEW    FRIENDS. 

It  was  a  Sunday  afternoon  in  Hyde  Park,  in  this  pleasantly 
opening  summer;  and  there  was  a  fair  show  of  "the  quality" 
come  out  for  their  accustomed  promenade,  despite  the  few  thun- 
der-showers that  had  swept  across  from  the  South.  These,  in 
fact,  had  but  served  to  lay  the  dust,  and  to  bring  out  the  scent  of 
the  hawthorns  and  lilacs,  so  that  the  air  was  sweet  with  perfume ; 
while  the  massive  clouds,  banking  up  in  the  North,  formed  a  pur- 
ple background  to  show  up  the  young  green  foliage  of  the  trees, 
all  wet  with  rain,  and  shimmering  tremulously  in  the  sunlight. 

George  Brand  and  his  friend  Evelyn  sat  in  the  back  row  of 
chairs,  watching  the  people  pass  and  repass.  It  Avas  a  sombre 
procession,  but  that  here  and  there  appeared  a  young  English 
girl  in  her  pale  spring  costume — paler  than  the  fresh  glow  of 
youth  and  health  on  her  face,  and  that  here  and  there  the  sun- 
light, wandering  down  through  the  branches,  touched  a  scarlet 
sunshade — just  then  coming  into  fashion — until  that  shone  like 
a  beautiful  spacious  flower  among  the  mass  of  green. 

When  they  had  been  silently  watching  the  people  for  some 
little  time,  Brand  said,  almost  to  himself, 

"  How  very  unlike  those  women  she  is !" 

"  Who  ?  Oh,  Natalie  Lind,"  said  the  other,  who  had  been 
speaking  of  her  some  minutes  before.  "  Well,  that  is  natural; 
and  I  don't  say  it  to  their  disadvantage.  I  believe  most  girls  are 
well-intentioned  enough  ;  but,  of  course,  they  grow  up  in  a  par- 
ticular social  atmosphere,  and  it  depends  on  that  what  they  be- 
come. If  it  is  rather  fast,  the  girl  sees  nothing  objectionable  in 
being  fast  too.  If  it  is  religious,  the  god  of  her  idolatry  is  a 
bishop.     If  it  is  sporting,  she  thinks  mostly  about  horses,     Na- 


112  SUNRISE. 

talie  is  exceptional,  because  she  lias  been  brougbt  up  in  excep- 
tional circumstances.  For  one  thing,  she  has  been  a  good  deal 
alone ;  and  she  has  formed  all  sorts  of  beautiful  idealisms  and 
aspirations — " 

The  conversation  dropped  here ;  for  at  the  moment  Lord  Eve- 
lyn espied  two  of  his  sisters  coming  along  in  the  slow  procession. 

"  Here  come  two  of  the  girls,"  he  said  to  his  friend.  "  How 
precious  demure  they  look  !" 

Brand  at  once  rose,  and  went  out  from  the  shadow  of  the  trees, 
to  pay  his  respects  to  the  two  young  ladies. 

"How  do  you  do,  Miss  D'Agincourt?  How  do  you  do,  Miss 
Frances  ?" 

Certainly  no  one  would  have  suspected  these  two  very  graceful 
and  jileasant- looking  girls  of  being  madcap  creatures  at  home. 
The  elder  was  a  tall  and  slightly-built  blonde,  with  large  gray 
eyes  set  wide  apart ;  the  younger  a  gentle  little  thing,  with  brown- 
ish eyes,  freckles,  and  a  pretty  mouth. 

"Mamma?"  said  the  eldest  daughter,  in  answer  to  his  inquiries. 
"  Oh,  she  is  behind,  bringing  up  the  rear,  as  it  were.  We  have 
to  go  in  detachments,  or  else  the  police  would  come  and  read  the 
riot  act  against  us.  Francie  and  I  are  the  vanguard ;  and  she 
feels  such  a  good  little  girl,  marching  along  two  and  two,  just  as 
if  she  were  back  at  Brighton." 

The  clear  gray  eyes — quite  demure — glanced  in  toward  the 
shadows  of  the  trees. 

"  I  see  you  have  got  Evelyn  there,  Mr.  Brand.  Who  is  the  ex- 
traordinary person  he  is  always  talking  about  now — the  Maid  of 
Saragossa,  or  Joan  of  Arc,  or  something  like  that  ?  Do  you 
know  her  ?" 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  Miss  Lind." 

"  I  know  he  has  persuaded  mamma  to  go  and  call  on  her, 
and  get  her  to  dine  with  us,  if  she  will  come.  Now,  I  call  that 
kind." 

"  If  she  accepts,  you  mean  ?" 

"  No,  I  mean  nothing  of  the  sort.  Good-bye.  If  we  stay  an- 
other minute,  we  shall  have  the  middle  detachments  overlapping 
the  vanguard.     En  avant,  Francie  !     Vorwarts !" 

She  bowed  to  him,  and  passed  on  in  her  grave  and  stately  man- 
ner :  more  calmly  observant,  demurer  eyes  were  not  in  the  Park. 

He  ran  the  gauntlet  of  the  whole  family,  and  at  last  encoun- 


NEW    FRIENDS.  113 

tcred  tlie  mamraa,  wlio  brouglit  up  the  rear  witli  tlic  youngest  of 
her  (huiuhters.  Lady  Evelyn  was  a  tall,  somewhat  good-looking, 
elderly  lady,  who  wore  her  silver- white  hair  in  old-fashioned 
curls.  She  was  an  amiable  but  strictly  matter-of-fact  person, 
who  beheld  her  daughters'  mad  humors  with  surprise  as  well  as 
alarm.  What  were  they  forever  laughing  at?  Besides,  it  was 
indecorous.  She  had  not  conducted  herself  in  tliat  manner  when 
she  lived  in  her  father's  home. 

Lady  Evelyn,  who  was  vaguely  aware  that  Brand  knew  the 
Linds,  repeated  her  daughter's  information  about  the  proposed 
visit,  and  said  that  if  Miss  Lind  would  come  and  spend  the  even- 
ing with  them,  she  hoped  Mr.  Brand  would  come  too. 

"These  girls  do  tease  dreadfully,  I  know,"  said  their  mamma; 
"  but  perliaps  they  will  behave  a  little  better  before  a  stranger." 

Mr.  Brand  replied  that  he  hoped  Miss  Lind  would  accept  the 
invitation — for  during  her  father's  absence  she  must  be  somewhat 
tlnll — but  that  even  without  the  protection  of  her  presence  he 
was  not  afraid  to  face  those  formidable  young  ladies.  "Where- 
upon Miss  Geraldine — wlio  was  generally  called  the  baby,  though 
she  was  turned  thirteen — glanced  at  him  with  a  look  which  said, 
"  Won't  you  catch  it  for  that !"  and  the  mamma  then  bade  him 
ofood-bve,  savino:  that  Rosalvs  would  write  to  him  as  soon  as  the 
evening  was  arranged. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait  for  that  expected  note.  The  very 
next  night  lie  received  it.  Miss  Lind  was  coming  on  Thursday ; 
would  that  suit  him  ?     A  quarter  to  eight. 

He  was  there  punctual  to  the  moment.  The  presence  of  the 
whole  rabble  of  girls  in  the  drawing-room  told  him  that  this  was 
to  be  a  quite  private  and  domestic  dinner-party ;  on  other  occa- 
sions only  two  or  three  of  the  phalanx — as  Miss  D'Agincourt  de- 
scribed herself  and  her  sisters — were  chosen  to  appear.  And,  on 
this  especial  occasion,  there  was  a  fine  hubbub  of  questions  and 
raillery  o-oing  on — which  Brand  vainly  endeavored  to  meet  all  at 
once — when  he  was  suddenly  rescued.  The  door  was  opened, 
and  Miss  Lind  was  announced.     The  clamor  ceased. 

She  was  dressed  in  black,  with  a  red  camellia  in  her  bosom, 
and  another  in  the  magnificent  ]>la(d<:  liair.  Brand  thought  he 
liad  never  seen  her  looli  so  beautiful,  and  at  once  so  graciously 
proud  and  gentle.  Lady  Evelyn  went  forward  to  meet  her,  and 
greeted  her  very  kindly  indeed.     She  was  introduced  to  one  or 


114  SUNRISE. 

two  of  the  girls.  She  shook  liaiids  with  Mr.  Brand,  and  gave 
him  a  pleasant  smile  of  greeting.  Lady  Evelyn  had  to  apologize 
for  her  son's  absence ;  he  had  only  gone  to  write  a  note. 

The  tall,  beautiful  Hungarian  girl  seemed  not  in  the  least  em- 
barrassed by  all  these  curious  eyes,  that  occasionally  and  covertly 
regarded  her  while  pretending  not  to  do  so.  Two  of  the  young 
ladies  tlicre  were  older  than  she  was,  vet  she  seemed  more  of  a 
woman  than  any  of  them.  Her  self-possession  was  perfect.  She 
sat  down  by  Lady  Evelyn,  and  submitted  to  be  questioned.  The 
girls  afterward  told  their  brother  they  believed  she  was  an  actress, 
because  of  the  clever  manner  in  which  she  managed  her  train. 

But  at  this  moment  Lord  Evelyn  made  his  appearance  in  great 
excitement,  and  with  profuse  apologies. 

"  But  the  fact  is,"  said  he,  producing  an  evening  paper,  "  the 
fact  is — just  listen  to  this,  Natalie :  it  is  the  report  of  a  police 
case." 

At  his  thus  addressing  her  by  her  Christian  name  the  mother 
started  somewhat,  and  the  demure  eyes  of  the  girls  were  turned 
to  the  floor,  lest  they  should  meet  any  conscious  glance. 

"Here  is  a  fellow  brought  before  the  Hammersmith  magis- 
trate for  indulging  in  a  new  form  of  amusement.  Oh,  very 
pretty !  very  nice !  He  had  only  got  hold  of  a  small  dog,  and 
he  was  taking  it  bv  the  two  forelegs,  and  trving  how  far  he 
could  heave  it.  Very  well ;  he  is  brought  before  the  magistrates. 
He  had  onlv  heaved  the  dog  two  or  three  times:  nothino-  at  all, 
you  know.  You  think  he  will  get  off  with  a  forty  shillings  fine, 
or  something  like  that.  Not  altogether!  Two  months'  hard 
labor — two  solid  months^  hard  labor ;  and  if  I  had  my  will  of 
the  brute,"  he  continued,  savagely,  "  I  would  give  ten  years'  hard 
labor,  and  bury  him  alive  when  he  came  out.  However,  two 
months'  hard  labor  is  something.  I  glory  in  that  magistrate ; 
I  have  just  been  up-stairs  writing  a  note  asking  him  to  dine  with 
me.     I  believe  I  was  introduced  to  him  once." 

"  Evelyn  quite  goes  beside  himself,"  his  mother  said  to  her 
guest,  with  half  an  air  of  apology,  "  when  he  reads  about  cruelty 
like  that." 

"  Surely  it  is  better  than  being  callous,"  said  Natalie,  speaking 
very  gently. 

They  went  in  to  dinner ;  and  the  young  ladies  were  very 
well  behaved  indeed.     They  did  not  at  all  resent  the  fashion  in 


NEW    FRIENDS.  115 

whicli  tlic  wliole  attention  of  the  dinner-table  was  given  to  tlic 
strnngor. 

"And  so  vou  like  liviuij-  in  England  T'  said  Ladv  Evelyn  to 
lier. 

"I  cannot  breathe  elsewhere,"  was  the  simple  answer. 

"Why,"  said  the  matter-of-fact,  silver-haired  lady,  "if  this 
conntry  is  notorious  for  anything,  it  is  for  its  foguy  atmosphere  !" 

"  I  think  it  is  famous  for  something  more  than  that,"  said  the 
girl,  with  just  a  touch  of  color  in  the  beautiful  face;  for  she  was 
not  accustomed  to  speak  before  so  many  people.  "  Is  it  not 
more  famous  for  its  freedom  ?  It  is  that  that  makes  the  air  so 
sweet  to  breathe." 

"Well,  at  all  events,  you  don't  liud  it  very  picturesque  as  com- 
pared with  other  countries.  Evelyn  tells  me  you  have  travelled 
a  great  deal." 

"  Perhaps  I  am  not  very  fond  of  pictnresqneness,"  Natalie 
said,  modestly.  "  When  I  am  travelling  through  a  country  1 
would  rather  see  plenty  of  small  farms,  thriving  and  prosperous, 
than  splendid  ruius  that  tell  only  of  ojipression  and  extravagance, 
and  the  fierceness  of  war. 

No  one  spoke ;  so  she  made  bold  to  continue — but  she  ad- 
dressed Lady  Evelyn  only, 

"  No  doubt  it  is  very  picturesque,  as  yon  go  up  the  Rhine,  or 
across  the  See  Kreis,  or  through  the  Lombard  plains,  to  see  every 
height  crowned  with  its  castle.  Yes,  one  cannot  help  admiring. 
They  are  like  beautiful  flowers  that  have  blossomed  up  from  the 
valleys  and  the  plains  below.  But  who  tilled  the  land,  that  these 
should  grow  there  on  every  height?  Are  you  not  forced  to 
thi?ik  of  the  toiling  wretches  who  labored  and  labored  to  carry 
stone  by  stone  up  to  the  crest  of  the  hill  ?  They  did  not  get 
much  enjoyment  out  of  the  grandeur  and  jncturesqueness  of  the 
castles." 

"  But  they  gave  that  labor  for  their  own  protection,"  Lady 
Evelyn  said,  with  a  smile.  "The  great  lords  and  barons  were 
their  protectors." 

"  The  great  lords  and  barons  said  so,  at  least,"  said  the  girl, 
without  any  smile  at  all,  "  and  I  suppose  the  peasantry  believed 
them  ;  and  were  quite  willing  to  leave  their  vinevards  and  go 
and  shed  their  blood  whenever  the  great  lords  and  barons  quar- 
relled amono"  themselves." 


110  SUNRISE, 

"  "Well  said  !  well  said  !"  Brand  exclaimed,  quickly  ;  though, 
indeed,  this  calm,  gentle-eyed,  self-possessed  girl  Avas  in  no  need 
of  any  champion. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  a  great  Radical,  Miss  Lind,"  said  Lady 
Evelyn, 

"  Perhaps  it  is  your  English  air,  Lady  Evelyn,"  said  the  girl, 
with  a  smile. 

Lord  Evelyn's  mother,  notwithstanding  her  impassive,  unim- 
aginative nature,  soon  began  to  betray  a  decided  interest  in  this 
new  guest,  and  even  sometliing  more.  She  was  attracted,  to  be- 
gin with,  by  the  singular  beauty  of  the  young  Hungarian  lady, 
wdiich  was  foreign-looking,  unusual,  picturesque.  She  was  struck 
by  her  perfect  self-possession,  and  by  the  ease  and  grace  of  her 
manner,  which  was  rather  that  of  a  mature  woman  tlian  of  a  girl 
of  nineteen.  But  most  of  all  she  was  interested  in  her  odd  talk 
and  opinions,  which  she  expressed  with  such  absolute  simplicity 
and  frankness.  Was  it,  Lady  Evelyn  asked  herself,  that  the 
girl  liad  been  brought  up  so  much  in  the  society  of  men — that 
she  had  neither  mother  nor  sisters — that  she  spoke  of  politics 
and  such  matters  as  if  it  was  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world 
for  women,  of  whatever  age,  tu  consider  them  as  of  first  impor- 
tance? 

But  one  chance  remark  that  Natalie  made,  on  the  impulse  of 
the  moment,  did  for  the  briefest  possible  time  break  down  that 
charming  self-confidence  of  hers,  and  show  her — to  the  wonder- 
ment of  the  English  girls — the  prey  of  an  alarmed  embarrass- 
ment. George  Brand  had  been  talking  of  patriotism,  and  of  the 
scorn  that  must  naturally  be  felt  for  the  man  who  would  say  of 
his  countr}-,  "  Well,  it  will  last  my  time.  Let  me  enjoy  myself 
when  I  can.  What  do  I  care  about  the  future  of  other  people?" 
And  then  he  went  on  to  talk  of  the  larger  patriotism  that  con- 
cerned itself  not  merely  with  one's  fellow-countrymen  but  with 
one's  fellow-mortals ;  and  how  the  stimulus  and  enthusiasm  of 
that  wider  patriotism  should  be  proportionately  stronger;  and 
how  it  might  seek  to  break  down  artificial  barriers  of  political 
systems  and  religious  creeds.  Patriotism  was  a  beautiful  flame 
— a  star;  but  here  was  a  sun.  Oi'dinarily,  to  tell  tlie  truth,  Brand 
was  but  an  indifferent  speaker — he  had  all  an  Englishman's  self- 
consciousness ;  but  now  he  spoke  for  Natalie  alone,  and  minded 
the  others  but  little.     Presently  Lady  Evelyn  said,  with  a  smile. 


NEW    FKIENDS.  1  1  7 

"You,  too,  Miss  Lind,  are  a  reformer,  are  yon  not?  Evelyn  is 
very  mysterious,  and  I  can't  quite  make  out  what  lie  means;  but 
at  all  events  it  is  very  kind  of  you  to  spare  us  an  evening  when 
you  must  be  so  deeply  eno-agcd." 

"I?"  said  Natalie.  "Oh  no,  it  is  very  little  that  I  can  do. 
The  work  is  too  difficult  and  arduous  for  women,  perhaps.  But 
there  is  one  thin<j:  that  women  can  do — they  can  love  and  honor 
those  who  are  working  for  them.'' 

It  was  spoken  impulsively — probably  the  girl  was  thinking 
only  of  her  father.  But  at  the  moment  she  happened  to  look 
up,  and  there  were  Rosalvs  D'Agincourt's  calmly  observant  eves 
fixed  on  her.  Then  some  vague  echo  of  what  she  had  said  rush- 
ed in  upon  her;  she  was  bewildered  by  the  possible  interpreta- 
tion others  might  put  on  the  words;  and  the  quick,  sensitive 
blood  mounted  to  her  forehead.  But  fortunately  Lady  Evelyn, 
who  had  missed  the  whole  thing,  happened  at  this  very  instant 
to  begin  talking  of  orchids,  and  Natalie  struck  in  with  great  re- 
lief.    So  that  little  episode  went  by. 

And,  as  dinner  went  on,  Brand  became  more  and  more  con- 
vinced that  this  family  was  the  most  delightful  family  in  Eng- 
land. Just  so  much  restraint  had  left  their  manner  as  to  render 
those  madcap  girls  exceedingly  frank  and  good-natured  in  the 
courtesy  they  showed  to  their  guest,  and  to  admit  her  as  a  con- 
fidante into  their  ways  of  bantering  each  other.  And  one  would 
herself  come  round  to  shift  the  fire-screen  behind  Miss  Lind  to 
precisely  the  proper  place ;  and  another  said  that  Miss  Lind 
drank  water  becatise  Evehn  had  been  so  monstrously  stupid  as 
not  to  have  any  Hungarian  wine  for  her ;  and  another  asked  if 
she  might  call  on  Miss  Lind  the  following  afternoon,  to  take  her 
to  some  place  where  some  marvellous  Japanese  curiosities  were 
on  view.  Then,  when  they  left  for  the  drawing-room,  the  eldest 
Miss  D'Agincourt  put  her  arm  within  the  arm  of  their  guest,  and 
said, 

"  Now,  dear  Miss  Lind,  please  understand  that,  if  there  was 
any  stranger  here  at  all,  we  should  not  dream  of  asking  you  to 
sing.  Ermentrude  and  I  take  all  that  on  our  shoulders;  we 
squawk  for  the  whole  of  the  family.  r>ut  Evelyn  has  told  us  so 
much  about  your  singing — " 

"Oh,  I  will  sing  for  you  if  you  wish  it,"  said  Natalie,  without 
hesitation. 


118  SUNRISE. 

Some  little  time  thereafter  Brand  was  walking  up  and  down 
tlic  room  below,  slowly  and  thoughtfully  :  he  was  not  much  of  a 
wiuc-driuker. 

"  Evelyn,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "  I  shall  soon  be  able  to  tell  you 
whether  I  owe  you  a  life-long  gratitude.  I  owe  you  much  al- 
ready. Through  you  I  have  got  some  work  to  do  iu  the  world; 
I  am  busy,  and  content.     But  there  is  a  greater  prize." 

"  I  think  I  can  guess  what  you  mean,"  his  companion  said, 
calmly. 

"You  do?"  said  the  other,  with  a  quick  look.  "And  you  do 
not  think  I  am  mad? — to  go  and  ask  her  to  be  my  wife  before 
she  has  given  me  a  single  word  of  hope  ?" 

"  She  has  spoken  to  others  about  you  :  I  know  what  she  thinks 
of  you,"  said  Lord  Evelyn.  Then  the  fine,  pale  face  was  slight- 
ly flushed.  "  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Brand,  I  thought  of  this  be- 
fore you  ever  saw  her." 

"Thought  of  what?"  said  the  other,  with  a  stare  of  surprise. 

"That  you  would  be  the  right  sort  of  man  to  make  a  husband 
for  her:  she  might  be  left  alone  in  the  world  at  any  moment, 
without  a  single  relation,  and  scarcely  a  friend." 

"  Women  don't  marry  for  these  reasons,"  said  the  other,  some- 
what absently.  "  And  yet,  if  she  were  to  think  of  it,  it  would 
not  be  as  if  I  were  withdrawing  her  from  everything  she  takes 
an  interest  in.  We  should  be  together.  I  am  eager  to  go  for- 
ward, even  by  myself;  but  with  her  for  a  companion — think  of 
that !" 

"I  have  thought  of  it,"  said  Lord  Evelyn,  with  something  of 
a  sad  smile.  "  Often.  And  there  is  no  man  in  England  more 
heartily  wishes  you  success  than  I  do.  Come,  let  us  go  up  to 
the  drawing-room." 

They  went  out  into  the  hall.  Some  one  was  playing  a  noisy 
piece  up-stairs ;  it  was  safe  to  speak.     And  then  he  said, 

"Sliall  I  tell  you  something,  Brand  ?  —  something  that  will 
keep  you  awake  all  this  night,  and  not  with  the  saddest  of  think- 
ing ?  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  I  fancy  you  have  already  '  stole  bon- 
ny Glenlyon  away.' " 


A    LETTEU.  119 


CHArXER  X\\. 

A    LETTER. 

Black  night  lay  over  the  city,  and  silence ;  the  river  flowed 
unseen  through  tlie  darkness  ;  but  a  thousand  golden  points  of 
fire  mapped  out  the  lines  of  the  Euibankinent  and  the  long  curves 
of  the  distant  bridges.  The  infrequent  sounds  that  could  be 
heard  were  strangely  distinct,  even  when  they  were  faint  and  re- 
mote. There  was  a  sliii'ht  rustling  of  wind  in  the  trees  below 
the  window. 

But  the  night  and  the  silence  brought  him  neither  repose  nor 
counsel.  A  multitude  of  bewildering,  audacious  hopes  and  dis- 
tracting fears  strove  for  mastery  in  his  mind,  upsetting  altogether 
the  calm  and  cool  judgment  on  which  he  prided  himself.  His 
was  not  a  nature  to  harbor  illusions ;  he  had  a  hard  way  of  look- 
ing at  things;  and  yet — and  yet — might  not  this  chance  speech 
of  Lord  Evelyn  have  been  something  more  than  a  bit  of  good- 
humored  raillery?  Lord  Evelyn  was  Natalie's  intimate  friend; 
he  knew  all  her  surroundings;  he  was  a  quick  observer;  he  was 
likely  to  know  if  this  thing  were  possible.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  how  was  it  possible  that  so  beautiful  a  creature,  in  the  per- 
fect flower  of  her  youth,  should  be  without  a  lover?  He  forced 
himself  to  remember  that  she  and  her  father  seemed  to  see  no 
society  at  all.  Perhaps  she  was  too  useful  to  him,  and  he  would 
not  have  her  entangle  herself  with  many  friends.  Perhaps  they 
had  led  too-  nomadic  a  life.  But  even  in  hotels  abroad,  how 
could  she  have  avoided  the  admiration  she  was  sure  to  evoke  ? 
And  in  Florence,  mayhap,  or  Mentone,  or  Madrid ;  and  here  he 
began  to  conjure  up  a  host  of  possible  rivals,  all  foreigners,  of 
course,  and  all  equally  detestable,  and  to  draw  pictures  for  him  of 
tables  dliote,  with  always  the  one  beautiful  figure  there,  uncon- 
scious, gentle,  silent,  but  drawing  to  her  all  men's  eyes. 

There  was  but  the  one  way  of  putting  an  end  to  this  madden- 
ing uncertainty.  He  dared  not  claim  an  interview  with  her ;  she 
might  be  afraid  of  implying  too  much  by  granting  it;  various 


120  SUNRISE. 

considerations  might  dictate  a  refusal.  But  he  could  write  ;  and, 
in  point  of  fact,  writing-materials  were  on  the  table.  Again  and 
again  he  had  sat  down  and  taken  the  pen  in  his  hand,  only  to  get 
np  as  often  and  go  and  stare  out  into  the  yellow  glare  of  the 
night.  For  an  instant  his  sliadow  would  fall  on  the  foliage  of 
the  trees  below,  and  then  pass  away  again  like  a  ghost. 

At  two-and-twcnty  love  is  reckless,  and  glib  of  speech  ;  it  takes 
little  heed  of  the  future ;  the  light  straw-flame,  for  however  short 
a  period,  leaps  up  merrily  enough.  But  at  two-and-thirty  it  is 
more  alive  to  consequences ;  it  is  not  the  present  moment,  but 
the  duration  of  life,  that  it  regards  ;  it  seeks  to  proceed  with  a 
sure  foot.  And  at  this  crisis,  in  the  midst  of  all  this  irresolution, 
that  was  unspeakably  vexatious  to  a  man  of  his  firm  nature.  Brand 
demanded  of  himself  his  utmost  power  of  self-control.  He  would 
not  imperil  the  happiness  of  his  life  by  a  hasty,  importunate  ap- 
peal. AVhen  at  length  he  sat  down,  determined  not  to  rise  until 
he  had  sent  her  this  message,  he  forced  himself  to  write — at  the 
beginning,  at  least — -in  a  roundabout  and  indifferent  fashion,  so 
that  she  should  not  be  alarmed.  He  began  by  excusing  his  writ- 
ing to  her,  saying  he  had  scarcely  ever  liad  a  chance  of  talking  to 
her,  and  that  he  wished  to  tell  her  something  of  what  had  hap- 
pened to  him  since  the  memorable  evening  on  which  he  had  first 
met  her  at  her  father's  house.  And  he  went  on  to  speak  to  her 
of  a  friend  of  his,  who  used  to  amuse  himself  with  the  notion 
that  he  would  like  to  enter  himself  at  a  public  school  and  go 
through  his  school  life  all  over  again.  There  he  had  spent  the 
happiest  of  his  days ;  why  should  he  not  repeat  them  ?  If  only 
the  boys  would  agree  to  treat  him  as  one  of  themselves,  why 
should  he  not  bo  hail-fellow-well-met  with  them,  and  once  more 
enjoy  the  fun  of  uproarious  pillow-battles,  and  have  smuggled 
tarts  and  lemonade  at  night,  and  tame  rabbits  where  no  rab- 
bits should  be,  and  a  profound  hero-worship  for  the  captain  of 
the  school  Eleven,  and  excursions  out  of  bounds,  when  his  ex- 
cess of  pocket-money  would  enable  him  to  stand  treat  all  round? 
"Why  not?"  this  friend  of  his  used  to  say.  "Was  it  so  very 
impossible  for  one  to  get  back  the  cares  and  interests,  the  ambi- 
tions, the  amusements,  the  high  spirits  of  one's  boyhood  ?"  And 
if  he  now  were  to  tell  her  that  a  far  greater  miracle  had  happen- 
ed to  himself  ?  Tliat  at  an  age  when  he  had  fancied  he  had  done 
and  seen  most  things  worth  doing  and  seeing ;  when  the  past 


A    LETTEIl.  121 

seemed  to  contain  cveiytliing  worth  having,  ami  there  was  notli- 
iny  left  but  to  try  how  the  tedious  hours  could  be  got  over; 
when  a  listless  ennui  was  eating  his  very  heart  out  —  tliat  he 
should  be  presented,  as  it  were,  with  a  new  lease  <if  life,  with  stir- 
ring hopes  and  active  interests,  with  a  new  and  beautiful  faith, 
with  a  work  that  was  a  joy  in  itself,  whether  any  reward  was  to 
be  or  no  ?  And  surely  he  could  not  fail  to  express  to  Lord  Eve- 
lyn and  to  herself  his  gratitude  for  this  strange  thing. 

These  are  but  the  harsh  outlines  of  what,  so  far,  he  wrote;  but 
there  was  a  feeling  in  it — a  touch  of  gladness  and  of  pathos  here 
and  there — that  had  never  before  beeu  in  any  of  his  writing,  and 
of  which  he  was  himself  unconscious. 

But  at  this  point  he  paused,  and  his  breathing  grew  quick.  It 
was  so  difficult  to  write  in  these  measured  terras.  When  he  re- 
sumed, he  wrote  more  rapidly. 

What  wonder,  he  made  bold  to  ask  her,  if  amidst  all  this  be- 
wildering change  some  still  stranger  dream  of  what  might  be 
possible  in  the  future  should  have  taken  possession  of  him  ?  She 
and  he  were  leagued  in  sympathy  as  regarded  the  chief  object  of 
their  lives;  it  was  her  voice  that  had  inspired  him  ;  might  he  not 
hope  that  they  should  go  forward  together,  in  close  friendship  at 
least,  if  there  could  be  nothing  more  ?  And  as  to  that  something 
more,  was  there  no  hope  ?  lie  could  give  himself  no  grounds  for 
any  such  hope ;  and  yet — so  much  had  happened  to  him,  and 
mostly  through  her,  that  he  could  set  no  limit  to  the  possibilities 
of  happiness  that  lay  in  her  generous  hands.  When  he  saw  her 
among  others,  he  despaired ;  when  he  thought  of  her  alone,  and 
of  the  gentleness  of  her  heart,  he  dared  to  hope.  xVnd  if  this 
declaration  of  his  was  distressing  to  her,  how  easy  it  was  for  her 
to  dismiss  and  forget  it.  If  he  had  dared  too  much,  he  had  him- 
self to  blame.  In  any  case,  she  need  not  fear  that  her  refusal 
should  have  the  effect  of  dissociating  them  in  those  wider  inter- 
ests and  sympathies  to  which  he  had  pledged  himself.  He  was 
not  one  to  draw  back.  And  if  he  had  alarmed  or  offended  her, 
he  appealed  to  her  charity — to  that  great  kindness  which  she 
seemed  eager  to  extend  to  all  living  creatures.  How  could  such 
a  vision  of  possible  happiness  have  arisen  in  his  mind  without 
his  making  one  effort,  however  desperate,  to  realize  it  ?  At  the 
worst,  she  would  forgive. 

This  was,  in  brief,  the  substance  of  what  he  wrote ;  but  when, 

6 


ll'li  SUNRISE. 

after  many  an  anxious  rereading,  he  put  the  letter  in  an  enve- 
lope, he  was  miserably  conscious  how  little  it  conveyed  of  all  the 
hope  and  desire  that  had  bold  of  his  heart.  But  then,  he  argued 
with  himself,  if  she  inclined  her  ear  so  far,  surely  he  would  have 
other  and  better  opportunities  of  pleading  with  her ;  whereas,  if 
he  had  been  dreaming  of  impossibilities,  then  he  and  she  would 
meet  the  more  easily  in  the  future  that  he  had  not  given  too  ve- 
hement an  expression  to  all  the  love  and  admiration  he  felt  for 
her.  He  could  not  sacrifice  her  friendship  also — her  society — 
the  chances  of  listening  from  time  to  time  to  the  musical,  low, 
soft  voice. 

Carrying  this  fateful  letter  in  his  hand,  he  went  down-stairs 
and  out  into  the  cool  night  air.  And  now  he  was  haunted  by  a 
hundred  fears.  Again  and  again  he  was  on  the  point  of  turning- 
back  to  add  something,  to  alter  something,  to  find  some  phrase 
that  would  appeal  more  closely  to  her  heart.  And  then  all  of  a 
sudden  lie  convinced  himself  that  he  should  not  have  written  at 
all.  Why  not  have  gone  to  see  her,  at  any  risk,  to  plead  with 
herself?  But  then  he  would  have  had  to  write  to  beg  for  a  tete- 
a-iete  interview ;  and  would  not  that  be  more  distinctly  alarm- 
ing than  this  roundabout  epistle,  which  was  meant  to  convey  so 
much  indirectly?  Finally,  he  arrived  at  the  pillar  letter-box; 
and  this  indisputable  fact  brought  an  end  to  his  cogitations.  If 
he  had  gone  walking  onward  he  would  have  wasted  the  night  in 
fruitless  counsel.  He  would  have  repeated  again  and  again  the 
sentences  he  had  used ;  striven  to  picture  her  as  she  read ;  won- 
dered if  he  ought  not  still  to  go  back  and  strengthen  his  prayer. 
But  now  it  was  to  be  yes  or  no.  Well,  he  posted  the  letter ;  and 
then  he  breathed  more  freely.     The  die  was  cast,  for  good  or  ill. 

And,  indeed,  no  sooner  was  the  thing  done  than  his  spirits  rose 
considerably,  and  he  walked  on  with  a  lighter  heart.  This  soli- 
tary London,  all  lamp-lit  and  silent,  was  a  beautiful  city.  "" Schlaf 
selig  und  s'uss,'"  the  soft  stirring  of  the  night-wind  seemed  to  say  : 
let  her  not  dread  the  message  the  morning  would  bring!  He 
thought  of  the  other  cities  she  must  have  visited  ;  and  if — ah,  the 
dream  of  it ! — if  he  and  she  were  to  go  away  together  to  behold 
the  glories  of  the  moonlight  on  the  lagoon,  and  the  wonders  of 
the  sunrise  among  the  hills !  He  had  seen  in  Rome,  he  remem- 
bered, a  wonderful  coronet  of  rubies  :  would  not  that  do  for  the 
beautiful  black  masses  of  hair?     Or  pearls?     She  did  not  appear 


A    LETTER.  123 

to  have  much  jewellery.  Or  rather — seeinf;;  that  such  things  are 
possible  between  husband  and  wife — would  she  not  accept  the 
value,  and  far  more  than  the  value,  of  any  jewellery  she  could  de- 
sire, to  be  given  away  in  acts  of  kindness  ?  That  would  be  more 
like  Xatalie. 

lie  walked  on,  his  heart  full  of  an  audacious  joy  ;  for  now  this 
was  the  picture  before  liim :  a  Buckinghamshire  hill ;  a  red  and 
white  house  among  the  beeches  ;  and  a  spacious  lawn  looking  out 
on  the  far  and  wooded  plain,  with  its  villages,  and  spires,  and  tiny 
curls  of  smoke.  And  this  foreign  young  lady  become  an  English 
house-mistress;  proud  of  her  nectarines  and  pineapples;  proud 
of  her  Hungarian  horses  ;  proud  of  the  quiet  and  comfort  of  the 
home  she  can  offer  to  her  friends,  when  they  come  for  a  space  to 
rest  from  their  labors ^^Schlaf  seli(/  unci  siissT''  the  night- 
wind  seemed  to  sav  :  "  The  white  morning  is  brinuinir  with  it  a 
message !'' 

To  him  the  morning  brought  an  end  to  all  those  2:olden  dreams 
of  the  night.  The  reaction  had  set  in.  Ilis  old  misgivings  re- 
turned with  redoubled  force.  For  one  thing,  there  was  a  letter 
from  Reitzei,  saying  that  the  man  Kirski  had  at  length  consented 
to  begin  to  work  at  his  trade,  and  that  Miss  Lind  need  fear  no 
further  annoyance  ;  and  somehow  he  did  not  like  to  see  her  name 
written  in  this  foreign  way  of  writing.  She  belonged  to  these 
foreigners ;  her  cares  and  interests  were  not  those  of  one  who 
would  feel  at  home  in  that  Buckinghamshire  home ;  she  was  re- 
mote. And,  of  course,  in  her  manifold  wanderings  —  in  those 
hotels  in  which  she  had  to  pass  the  day,  when  her  father  was 
absent  at  his  secret  interviews  —  how  could  she  avoid  making 
acquaintances?  Even  among  those  numerous  friends  of  her  fa- 
ther's there  must  have  been  some  one  here  or  there  to  accom- 
pany her  in  her  drives  in  the  Prater,  in  her  evenings  at  La  Scala, 
in  her  morning  walk  along  the  Chiaja.  He  remembered  how 
seldom  he  had  seen  her:  she  might  have  many  more  friends  in 
London  than  he  had  dreamed  of.  Who  could  see  her,  and  re- 
main blind  to  her  beauty  ?  Who  could  know  her,  and  remain 
insensible  to  the  fascination  of  her  enthusiasm,  her  faith  in  the 
right,  her  courage,  her  hope,  her  frank  friendship  with  those  who 
would  help  ? 

He  was  impatient  with  the  veteran  Waters  this  morning ;  and 
Waters  was  himself  fractious,  and  inclined  to  resent  sarcasm,    lie 


124  SUNRISE, 

had  just  heard  from  Buckinghamshire  that  his  substitute  had, 
for  some  reason  or  other,  intrusted  the  keys  of  the  wine-cellar  to 
one  of  the  house-maids;  and  that  that  industrious  person  had 
seized  the  opportunity  to  tilt  up  all  the  port-wine  she  could  lay 
her  hands  on  in  order  to  polish  the  bottles  with  a  duster. 

"  Well,"  said  his  master,  "  I  suppose  she  collected  the  cobwebs 
and  sold  them  to  a  wine-merchant :  they  would  be  invaluable." 

AVaters  said  nothing,  but  resolved  to  have  a  word  with  the 
young  woman  when  he  went  down. 

The  morning  was  fine ;  in  any  case,  Brand  could  not  have 
borne  the  distress  of  waiting  in  all  day,  on  the  chance  of  her 
reply  coming.  He  had  to  be  moving.  He  walked  up  to  Lisle 
Street,  and  saw  Reitzei,  on  the  pretext  of  talking  about  Kirski, 

"Lind  will  be  back  in  a  week,"  said  the  pallid -faced  smart 
vouno-  man.  "  He  w^rites  with  great  satisfaction,  which  always 
means  something  in  his  case.  I  should  not  wonder  if  he  and  his 
daughter  w^ent  to  live  in  the  States." 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  said  Brand,  coldly ;  but  the  words  made  his 
heart  tremble. 

"  Yes.  And  if  you  would  only  go  through  the  remaining  de- 
crees, vou  might  take  his  place — who  knows?" 

"AVho  knows,  indeed ?"  said  Brand.  "But  I  don't  covet  the 
honor." 

There  was  something  in  his  tone  which  made  the  other 
look  up. 

"  I  mean  the  responsibility,"  he  said,  quickly. 
"  You  see,"  observed  Reitzei,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  "  one 
must  admit  you  are  having  rather  hard  lines.  Your  work  is  in- 
valuable to  us — Lind  is  most  proud  of  it — but  it  is  tedious  and 
difficult,  eh?  Now  if  they  were  to  give  you  something  like  the 
Syrian  business — " 
"What  is  that?" 

"  Oil,  only  one  of  the  many  duties  the  Society  has  undertaken," 
said  Reitzei,  carelessly.  "  Not  tliat  I  approve  because  the  people 
are  Christians ;  it  is  because  they  are  numerically  weak ;  and  the 
Mahommedans  treat  them  shamefully.  There  is  no  one  knows 
about  it ;  no  one  to  make  a  row  about  it ;  and  the  Government 
won't  let  the  poor  wretches  import  arms  to  defend  themselves. 
Very  well :  very  well,  messieurs !  But  your  Government  allow 
the  importation  of  guns  for  sport.     Ha !  and  then,  if  one  can 


A    LETTER.  125 

find  money,  and  an  ingenious  English  firm  to  make  rifle-barrels 
to  fit  into  the  sporting-giin  stock,  can  ycni  conceive  any  greater  fun 
than  smuggling  these  barrels  into  the  country?  My  dear  fellow, 
it  is  fflorious:  we  could  have  five  hundred  volunteers!  But  at 
the  same  time  I  say  your  work  is  more  valuable  to  us.  No  one 
but  an  Englishman  could  do  it.  Every  one  knows  of  your  suc- 
cess." 

Brand  thanked  lieitzei  for  his  good  opinion,  and  rather  ab- 
sently took  up  his  hat  and  left.  Instinctively  he  made  his  way 
westward.  He  was  sure  to  see  her,  at  a  distance,  taking  this 
morning  stroll  of  hers:  might  he  not  guess  something  from  her 
face  as  to  what  her  reply  would  be?  She  could  not  have  written 
so  soon ;  she  would  take  time  to  consider ;  even  a  refusal  would, 
he  knew,  be  gently  worded. 

In  any  case,  he  would  see  her ;  and  if  her  answer  gave  no  hope, 
it  would  be  the  last  time  on  which  he  would  follow  that  graceful 
fisrure  from  afar  with  his  eves,  and  wonder  to  himself  what  the 
low  and  musical  voice  was  saying  to  Anneli.  And  as  he  walked 
on,  he  grew  more  and  more  downhearted.  It  was  a  certainty 
that,  out  of  all  those  friends  of  her  father's,  some  one  must  have 
dreamed  of  possessing  this  beautiful  prize  for  his  own. 

When,  after  not  much  waiting,  he  saw  Xatalie  and  Anneli  cross 
into  the  Park,  he  had  so  reasoned  himself  into  despair  that  he 
was  not  surprised — at  least,  he  tried  to  convince  himself  that  he 
was  not  surprised — to  perceive  that  the  former  was  accompanied 
by  a  stranger,  the  little  German  maid-servant  walking  not  quite 
with  them,  and  yet  not  altogether  behind  them.  lie  could  al- 
most have  expected  this ;  and  yet  his  eyes  seemed  hot,  and  he 
had  some  difticulty  in  trying  to  make  out  who  this  might  be. 
And  at  this  great  distance  he  could  only  gather  that  he  was  for- 
eign in  appearance,  and  that  he  wore  a  peaked  cap  in  place  of  a 
hat. 

He  dared  not  follow  them  now  ;  and  he  was  about  to  turn 
away  when  he  saw  Natalie's  new  companion  motion  to  her  to  sit 
down  on  one  of  the  seats.  He  sat  down,  too ;  and  he  took  her 
hand,  and  held  it  in  his.     AVhat  then  ? 

This  man  looking  on  from  a  distance,  and  with  a  bitter  heart, 
had  no  thought  against  her.  AVas  it  not  natural  for  so  beautiful 
a  girl  to  have  a  lover?  But  that  this  fellow — this  foreigner — 
should  degrade  her  by  treating  her  as  if  she  were  a  nursery-maid 


120  SUNRISE. 

flirting;  -with  one  of  the  soldiers  from  tlie  barracks  clown  there, 
this  filled  hini  with  bitterness  and  hatred.  lie  turned  and  walk- 
ed away  with  a  firm  step.  He  had  no  ill  thoughts  of  her,  what- 
ever messao'e  she  mio-ht  send  him.  At  the  worst,  she  had  been 
generous  to  him;  she  had  filled  his  life  with  love  and  hope;  she 
had  given  him  a  future.  If  this  dream  were  shattered,  at  least 
he  could  turn  elsewhere,  and  say,  "  Labor,  be  thou  my  good." 

Meanwhile,  of  this  stranger?  lie  had  indeed  taken  Natalie 
Lind's  hand  in  his,  and  Natalie  let  it  remain  there  without  hesi- 
tation. 

"  My  little  daughter,"  said  he  to  her  in  Italian,  "  I  could  have 
recognized  you  by  your  hands.  You  have  the  hands  of  your 
mother :  no  one  in  the  world  had  more  beautiful  hands  than  she 
had.  And  now  I  will  tell  you  about  her,  if  you  promise  not  to 
cry  any  more." 

It  was  Calabressa  who  spoke. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

CALABRESSA. 

When  Calabressa  called  at  the  house  in  Curzon  Street  he  was 
at  once  admitted ;  Natalie  recognizing  the  name  as  that  of  one 
of  her  father's  old  friends.  Calabressa  had  got  himself  up  very 
smartly,  to  produce  an  impression  on  the  little  Natalushka  whom 
he  expected  to  see.  His  military-looking  coat  was  tightly  but- 
toned ;  he  had  burnished  up  the  gold  braid  of  his  cap ;  and  as 
he  now  ascended  the  stairs  he  gathered  the  ends  of  his  mustache 
out  of  his  yellow-white  beard  and  curled  them  round  and  round 
his  fingers  and  pulled  them  out  straight.  He  had  already  as- 
sumed a  pleasant  smile. 

But  when  he  entered  the  shaded  drawing-room,  and  beheld 
this  figure  before  him,  all  the  dancing-master's  manner  instantly 
fled  from  him.  He  seemed  thunderstruck ;  he  shi'unk  back  a 
little ;  his  cap  fell  to  the  floor ;  he  could  not  utter  a  word. 

"  Excuse  me  —  excuse  me,  mademoiselle,"  he  gasped  out  at 
length,  in  his  odd  French.  "  Ah,  it  is  like  a  ghost — like  other 
years  come  back — " 

He  stared  at  her. 


CALABRESSA.  1  2  i 

"  I  am  very  pleased  to  sec  you,  sir,''  said  she  to  liiin,  gently, 
in  Italian. 

"Her  voice  also  —  her  voice  also !"  he  exclaimed,  almost  to 
himself,  in  the  same  tongue.  "  Signorina,  you  will  forgive  me 
— but — when  one  sees  an  old  friend — you  are  so  like — ah,  so 
like—" 

"You  are  speaking  of  my  mother?"  the  girl  said,  with  her 
eyes  cast  down.  "  I  have  been  told  that  I  was  like  her.  You 
knew  her,  signore  ?" 

Calabressa  pulled  himself  together  somewhat.  He  picked  up 
his  cap  ;  he  assumed  a  more  business-like  air. 

"Oh  yes,  signorina,  I  knew  her,"  he  said,  with  an  apparent 
carelessness,  but  he  was  regarding  her  all  the  same.  "  Yes,  1 
knew  her  well.  We  were  friends  long  before  she  married. 
What,  are  you  surprised  that  I  am  so  old?  Do  you  know  that 
I  can  remember  you  when  you  were  a  very  little  thing — at  Dun- 
kirk it  was — and  what  a  valiant  young  lady  you  were,  and  you 
would  go  to  fight  the  Russians  all  by  yourself !  xVnd  you — you 
do  not  remember  your  mother?" 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  she  said,  sadly.  "  They  say  it  is  impossible, 
and  j^et  I  seem  to  remember  one  who  loved  me,  and  my  grief 
when  I  asked  for  her  and  found  she  would  never  come  back — or 
else  that  is  only  my  recollection  of  what  I  was  told  by  others. 
But  what  of  that  ?  I  know  where  she  is  now :  she  is  my  con- 
stant companion.  I  know  she  loved  me;  I  know  she  is  always 
regarding  me;  I  talk  to  her,  so  that  I  am  never  quite  alone ;  at 
night  I  pray  to  her,  as  if  she  were  a  saint — " 

She  turned  aside  somewhat;  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 
Calabressa  said  quickly, 

"  Ah,  sisfnorina,  whv  recall  what  is  so  sad?  It  is  so  useless. 
Allans  done!  shall  I  tell  you  of  my  surprise  when  I  saw  you 
first?  A  ghost — that  is  nothing  !  It  is  true,  your  father  warned 
me.  He  said, 'The  little  Natalushka  is  a  woman  now.'  But 
how  could  one  believe  it  ?" 

She  had  recovered  her  composure;  she  begged  liiiii  to  be 
seated. 

'■''Bien!  One  forgets.  Then  my  old  mother — my  dear  young 
lady,  even  I,  old  as  I  am,  have  a  mother — what  does  she  do  but 
draw  a  prize  in  the  Austro-IInngarian  lottery — a  huge  prize — 
enough  to  demoralize  one  for  life — five  thousand  florins.     More 


128  SUNRISE. 

reniarkaLle  still,  the  money  is  paid.  Not  so  remarkaljle,  my  good 
mother  dedares  she  will  give  half  of  it  to  an  undutiful  son,  who 
has  never  done  very  well  Avith  money  in  this  world.  AVe  come 
to  the  denouement  quickly.  '  What,'  said  I, '  shall  I  do  with  my 
new-found  liberty  and  my  new-found  money  ?  To  the  devil  with 
hanks !  I  will  be  off  and  away  to  the  land  of  fogs  to  see  my 
little  friend  Natalushka,  and  ask  her  what  she  thinks  of  the  Rus- 
sians now.'  And  the  result?  Mv  little  dauo-hter, von  have  a'iven 
me  such  a  fright  that  I  can  feel  my  hands  still  trembling." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  she,  with  a  smile.  This  gay  manner 
of  his  had  driven  away  her  sad  memories.  It  seemed  quite  nat- 
ural to  her  that  he  should  address  her  as  "  My  little  daughter." 

"But  where  are  the  fogs?  It  is  a  paradise  that  I  have 
reached — the  air  clear  and  soft,  the  gardens  beautiful.  This 
morning  I  said  to  myself,  '  I  will  go  early.  Perhaps  the  little 
Natalushka  will  be  going  out  for  a  walk ;  perhaps  we  will  go 
together.'  No,  signorina,"  said  he,  with  a  mock-heroic  bow,  "  it 
was  not  with  the  intention  of  buying  you  toys.  But  was  I  not 
right?  Do  I  not  perceive  by  your  costume  that  you  were  about 
to  go  out?" 

"  That  is  nothing,  signore,"  said  she.  "  It  would  be  very 
strange  if  I  could  not  give  up  my  morning  walk  for  an  old  friend 
of  mv  father's." 

"yltt  contraire,  you  shall  not  give  up  your  walk,"  said  he,  with 
great  courtesy.  "We  will  go  together;  and  then  you  will  toll 
me  about  your  father," 

She  accepted  this  invitation  without  tlie  slightest  scruple.  It 
did  not  occur  to  her — as  it  would  naturally  have  occurred  to  most 
English  girls — that  she  would  rather  not  go  walking  in  Hyde 
Park  with  a  person  who  looked  remarkably  like  the  leader  of  a 
German  band. 

But  Calabressa  had  known  her  mother. 

"Ah,  signore,"  said  she,  when  they  had  got  into  the  outer  air, 
"  I  shall  be  so  grateful  to  you  if  you  will  tell  me  about  my  moth- 
er. My  father  will  not  speak  of  her ;  I  dare  not  awaken  his  grief 
again  ;  he  must  have  suffered  much.  You  will  tell  me  about 
her." 

"  ^ly  litth;  daughter,  your  father  is  wise.  Why  awaken  old 
sorrows?     You  must  not  spoil  your  eyes  with  more  crying." 

And  then  he  went  on  to  speak  of  all  sorts  of  things,  in   his 


CALABRESSA.  129 

rapid,  interjectional  fashion — of  his  escape  from  prison  mostly — 
until  he  perceived  that  she  was  rather  silent  and  sad. 

"Come  then,"  said  he,  "  we  will  sit  down  on  this  seat.  Give 
me  yonr  hand." 

She  placed  her  hand  in  his  without  hesitation  ;  and  he  patted 
it  gcntlv,  and  said  how  like  it  was  to  the  hand  of  her  mother. 

"  You  arc  a  little  taller  than  she  was,"  said  he ;  "  a  little — not 
much.    Ah,  how  beautiful  she  was  !     She  had  many  sweethearts." 

He  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  two. 

"  Some  of  them  richer,  some  of  them  of  nobler  birth,  than  your 
father;  and  one  of  them  her  own  cousin,  whom  all  her  family 
wanted  her  to  marry.  But  you  know,  little  daughter,  your  father 
is  a  very  determined  man — " 

"  But  she  loved  him  the  best  ?"  said  the  girl,  quickly. 

"  Ah,  no  doubt,  no  doubt,"  said  Calabressa.  "  He  is  very  kind 
to  you,  is  he  not  ?" 

"Oh  yes.  Who  could  be  kinder?  But  about  my  mother, 
signore  ?" 

Calabressa  seemed  somewhat  embarrassed. 

"To  say  the  truth,  little  daughter,  how  am  I  to  tell  you?  I 
scarcely  ever  saw  her  after  she  married.  Before  then,  you  must 
imagine  yourself  as  you  are  now  to  think  of  her  picture :  and  she 
was  very  much  beloved — and  very  fond  of  horses.  Is  not  that 
enough  to  tell  ?  Ah,  yes,  another  thing :  she  was  very  brave 
when  there  was  any  danger;  and  you  know  all  the  family  were 
strong  patriots ;  and  one  or  two  got  into  sad  trouble.  When 
her  father — that  is  your  grandfather,  little  daughter — when  he 
failed  to  escape  into  Turkey  after  the  assassination — " 

Here  Calabressa  stopped,  and  then  gave  a  slight  wave  of  his 
hand. 

"  These  are  matters  not  interesting  to  you.  But  when  her  fa- 
ther had  to  seek  a  hiding-place  she  went  with  him  in  despite  of 
everybody.  I  do  not  suppose  he  would  be  alive  now  but  for  her 
devotion." 

"Is  mv  mother's  father  alive?"  the  c'irl  said,  with  eves  wide 
open. 

"  I  believe  so ;  but  the  less  said  about  it  the  better,  little 
daughter." 

"  Why  has  my  father  never  told  me  ?"  she  asked,  with  the 
same  almost  incredulous  stare. 

G* 


130  SUNRISE. 

"Have  I  not  hinted?  The  less  said  the  better.  There  are 
some  thino-s  no  Q-nvernment  will  amnesty.  Your  p-randfather  was 
a  good  patriot,  little  daughter." 

Thereafter  for  some  minutes  silence.  Slight  as  was  the  in- 
formation Calabressa  had  given  her,  it  was  of  intensest  interest 
to  her.  There  was  much  for  her  to  think  over.  Her  mother, 
whom  she  had  been  accustomed  to  regard  as '  a  beautiful  saint, 
placed  far  above  the  common  ways  of  earth,  was  suddenly  pre- 
sented to  her  in  a  new  light.  She  thought  of  her  young,  hand- 
some, surrounded  with  lovers,  proud-spirited  and  patriotic — a  de- 
voted daughter,  a  brave  woman. 

"  You  also  loved  her  ?"  she  said  to  Calabressa. 

The  man  started.  She  had  spoken  quite  innocently — almost 
absently :  she  was  thinking  that  he,  too,  must  have  loved  the 
brave  young  Hungarian  girl  as  all  the  world  loved  her. 

"I?"  said  Calabressa.  "Oh  yes,  I  was  a  friend  of  hers  for 
many  years.  I  taught  her  Italian ;  she  corrected  my  Magyar. 
Once  her  horse  ran  away;  I  was  w^alking,  and  saw  her  comino-; 
there  was  a  wagon  and  oxen,  and  I  shouted  to  the  man ;  he  drew 
the  oxen  right  across  the  road,  and  barred  the  way.  Ah,  how 
angry  she  used  to  be — she  pretented  to  be — when  they  told  her 
I  had  saved  her  life !     She  was  a  bold  rider." 

Presently  Calabressa  said,  with  a  lighter  air, 

*'  Come,  let  us  talk  of  something  else — of  you,  ^Mr  exem'ple. 
How  do  you  like  the  English?  You  have  many  sweethearts 
among  them,  of  course." 

"  No,  signore,  I  have  no  sweethearts,"  said  Natalie,  without  any 
trace  of  embarrassment. 

"What?  Is  it  possible?  When  I  saw  your  father  in  Venice, 
and  he  told  me  the  little  Natalushka  had  grown  to  be  a  woman,  I 
said  to  him,  '  Then  she  will  marry  an  Englishman.' " 

"And  what  did  he  say?"  the  girl  asked,  with  a  startled  look 
on  her  face. 

"Oh,  little,  very  little.  If  there  was  no  possibility,  why  should 
he  say  much  ?" 

"  I  have  no  sweethearts,"  said  Natalie,  simply ;  "  but  I  have  a 
friend — who  wishes  to  be  more  than  a  friend.  And  it  is  now, 
when  I  have  to  answer  him,  it  is  now  that  I  know  what  a  sad 
thing  it  is  to  have  no  mother." 

The  pathetic  vibration  that  Brand  had  noticed  was  in  her 


CALAiiRESSA.  131 

voice ;  licr  eyes  were  downcast,  her  hands  clasped.  For  a  sec- 
ond or  two  Calaltressa  was  silent. 

"  I  am  not  idly  curious,  my  little  dauo-litcr,''  lie  said  at  Icni^tli, 
and  very  gently  ;  "  but  if  you  knew  how  long-  ycnir  motiier  ami  I 
were  friends,  you  would  understand  the  interest  I  feel  in  y(ju,  and 
why  I  came  all  this  way  to  see  the  little  Natalushka.  So,  one 
question,  dear  little  one.     Does  your  father  approve?" 

"  Ah,  how  can  I  tell  ?" 

He  took  her  hand,  and  his  face  was  grave. 

"  Listen  now,"  said  he ;  "  I  am  going  to  give  you  advice.  If 
your  mother  could  speak  to  you,  this  is  what  she  would  say : 
Whatever  happens — whatever  happens — do  not  thwart  your  fa- 
ther's wishes." 

She  wished  to  withdraw  her  liaud,.bul  he  still  held  it. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  she  said.  "  Papa's  wishes  will 
always  be  for  my  liappiness ;  why  should  I  think  of  thwarting 
them  ?" 

"  Why,  indeed  ?  And  again,  why  ?  It  is  my  advice  to  you, 
my  little  daughter,  whether  you  think  your  fathers  wishes  are 
for  your  happiness  or  not — because,  you  know,  sometimes  fathers 
and  daughters  have  different  ideas — do  not  go  against  his  will." 

The  hot  blood  mounted  to  Natalie's  forehead — for  the  first 
time  during  this  interview. 

"  Are  you  predicting  strife,  signore  ?  I  owe  obedience  to  my 
father,  I  know  it;  but  I  am  not  a  child.  I  am  a  woman,  and 
have  my  own  wishes.  My  papa  would  not  think  of  thwarting 
them." 

"Natalushka,  you  must  not  be  angry  with  me." 

"  I  am  not  angry,  signore ;  but  you  must  not  suppose  that  I  am 
quite  a  child." 

"  Pardieu,  non  !"  said  Calabressa.  "  I  expected  to  find  Nata- 
lushka ;  I  find  Natalie — ah,  Heaven  !  that  is  the  wonder  and  the 
sadness  of  it  to  me  !  I  think  I  am  talking  to  your  mother  :  these 
are  her  hands.  I  listen  to  her  voice  :  it  seems  twenty  years  ago. 
And  you  have  a  proud  spirit,  as  she  had :  again  I  say — do  not 
thwart  your  father's  w'ishes,  Natalie — rather,  Natalushka!" 

He  spoke  with  such  an  obvious  kindness  and  earnestness  that 
she  could  not  feel  offended. 

"And  if  you  want  any  one  to  help  you  at  any  time,  my  little 
daughter — for  who  knows  the  ways  of  the  world,  and  what  may 


132  SUNRISE. 

happen  ? — if  your  father  is  sent  away,  and  you  are  alone,  and  you 
want  some  one  to  do  something  for  you,  then  this  is  what  you 
will  sav  to  yourself:  'There  is  that  old  fool  Calabressa,  who  has 
nuthinu;  iu  the  world  to  do  but  smoke  cigarettes  and  twirl  his 
mustache — I  will  send  for  Calabressa."  And  this  I  promise,  lit- 
tle one,  that  Calabressa  will  very  soon  be  at  your  feet." 

"  I  thank  you,  signore." 

"  It  is  true,  I  may  be  away  on  duty,  as  your  father  might  be ; 
but  I  have  friends  at  head-quarters;  I  have  done  some  service. 
And  if  I  were  to  say,  '  Calabressa  wishes  to  be  relieved  from 
duty ;  it  is  the  daughter  of  Natalie  Berezolyi  who  demands  his 
presence,'  I  know  the  answer:  'Calabressa  will  proceed  at  once  to 
obey  the  commands  of  the  daughter  of  Natalie  Berezolyi.' " 

""But  who—" 

"  No,  ray  little  daughter,  you  must  not  ask  that.  I  will  tell 
you  only  that  they  are  all-powerful;  that  they  will  protect  you 
— with  Calabressa  as  their  agent;  and  before  I  leave  this  city  I 
will  give  you  my  address,  or  rather  I  will  give  you  an  address 
where  you  will  find  some  one  who  will  guide  you  to  me.  May 
Heaven  grant  that  there  be  no  need.  Why  should  harm  come 
to  one  who  is  so  beautiful  and  so  gentle?" 

"  My  mother — was  she  happy  ?"  she  said,  quickly. 

"Little  daughter,"  said  he,  sharply,  and  he  threw  away  her 
hand,  "  if  you  ask  me  any  more  questions  about  your  mother 
vou  will  make  my  heart  bleed.  Do  you  not  understand  so  sira- 
pie  a  thing  as  that,  you  who  claim  to  be  a  w^oman  ?  You  have 
been  stabbing  me.  Come,  come  :  allons  ! — let  us  talk  of  some- 
thing else — of  your  friend  who  wishes  to  be  more  than  friend — 
you  wicked  little  one,  who  have  no  sweetheart !  And  what  are 
those  fools  of  English  about  ?  What  ?  But  tell  me — is  he  one 
of  us?" 

"  Oh  yes,  signore,"  said  she ;  and  instead  of  showing  any 
shamefacedness,  she  turned  toward  him  and  regarded  him  with 
the  fearless,  soft,  dark  eves.  "How  could  you  tliink  otherwise? 
And  he  is  so  brave  and  noble  :  he  is  not  afraid  of  sacrificing  those 
things  that  the  English  put  such  store  by — " 

"f^nglish?"  said  Calabressa. 

"  Yes,"  said  Natalie ;  and  now  she  looked  down. 

"  And  what  does  your  heart  say  ?" 

She  spoke  very  gently  in  reply. 


CALABRESSA.  133 

"Sitrnoro,  I  liave  not  answered  liiiii  yet;  you  cannot  expect 
inc  to  answer  you." 

"A  la  bonne  hen  re  I  Little  traitress,  to  say  she  has  no  sweet- 
hearts! Happy  Englislinum !  What,  then,  do  I  distress  you? 
It  is  not  so  simple  ?  It  is  an  embarrassment,  this  proposal  that 
he  has  made  to  you?  But  I  will  not  trouble  you  further  with 
my  questions,  little  daughter:  how  can  an  old  jail-bird  like  my- 
self understand  a  young  linnet-thing  that  has  always  been  flying 
and  fluttering  about  in  happiness  and  the  free  air?  Enfin,  let  us 
go  !  I  perceive  your  little  maid  is  tired  of  standing  and  staring; 
perhaps  it  is  time  for  you  to  go  back." 

She  rose,  and  the  three  of  them  slowly  proceeded  along  the 
gravelled  path. 

"  Your  father  does  not  return  until  next  week  :  must  I  wait  a 
whole  week  in  this  desert  of  a  town  before  seeing  you  again, 
petite  ?" 

"Oh  no,"  said  Natalie,  smiling ;"  that  is  not  necessary.  If 
my  papa  were  here  now  he  would  certainly  ask  you  to  dine  with 
us  to-night;  may  I  do  so  in  his  place?  You  will  not  find  much 
amusement;  but  Madame  Potecki — you  knew  her  husband,  per- 
liaps  r 

"  Potecki  the  Pole,  who  was  killed  ?" 

"Yes.  She  will  play  a  little  music  for  you.  But  there  arc 
so  many  amusements  in  London,  perhaps  you  would  rather  not 
spend  your  evening  with  two  poor  solitary  creatures  like  us." 

"My  little  daughter,  to  hear  you  speak,  that  is  all  I  want;  it 
takes  twenty  years  away  from  my  life ;  I  do  not  know  whether 
to  laugh  or  to  cry.  But  courage!  we  will  put  a  good  face  on 
our  little  griefs.  This  evening — this  evening  I  will  pretend  to 
myself  somethino- — I  am  rjoins;  to  live  mv  old  life  over  asrain — 
for  an  hour;  I  will  blow  a  horn  as  soon  as  I  have  crossed  the 
Erlau,  and  they  will  hear  it  up  at  the  big  house  among  the  pines, 
where  the  lights  are  shining  through  the  dark,  and  they  will  send  a 
servant  down  to  open  the  gates;  and  you  will  appear  at  the  hall- 
door,  and  say,  '  Signor  Calabressa,  why  do  you  make  such  a  noise 
to  awaken  the  dogs?'  And  I  will  say,  'Dear  Miss  Berezolyi,  the 
pine-woods  are  frightfully  dark ;  may  I  not  scare  away  the  ghosts?" 

"  It  was  my  mother  who  received  you,"  the  girl  said,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"It  was  Natalie  then;  to-night  it  will  be  Natalushka." 


134  SUNRISE. 

He  spoke  lightly,  so  as  not  to  make  these  reminiscences  too  se- 
rious. But  the  conjunction  of  the  two  names  seemed  suddenly 
to  startle  the  girl.     She  stopped,  and  looked  him  in  the  face. 

''  It  was  A'ou,  then,"  she  said,  "  who  sent  me  the  locket?" 

"  What  locket?"  he  said,  with  surprise. 

"  The  locket  the  lady  dropped  into  my  lap — ''From  Natalie  to 
JVatahishka.^ " 

"  I  declare  to  you,  little  daughter,  I  never  heard  of  it." 

The  girl  looked  bewildered, 

"  Ah,  how  stupid  I  am  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  could  not  under- 
stand. But  if  they  always  called  her  Natalie,  and  me  Nata- 
lushka— " 

She  paused  for  a  moment  to  collect  her  thoughts. 

"  Signor  Calabressa,  what  does  it  mean  ?"  she  said,  almost  wild- 
ly. "If  one  sends  me  a  locket — 'From  Natalie  to  Natalushka'' 
— was  it  my  mother's  ?  Did  she  intend  it  for  me  ?  Did  she 
leave  it  for  me  with  some  one,  long  ago  ?  How  could  it  come 
into  the  hands  of  a  stranger?" 

Calabressa  himself  seemed  rather  bewildered — ahnost  alarmed. 

"  My  little  daughter,  you  have  no  doubt  guessed  right,"  he 
said,  soothingly,  "  Your  mother  may  have  meant  it  for  you — 
and— and  perhaps  it  was  lost — and  just  recovered — " 

"  Signor  Calabressa,"  said  she — and  he  could  have  fancied  it 
was  her  mother  who  was  speaking  in  that  low,  earnest,  almost 
sad  voice — "you  said  you  would  do  me  an  act  of  friendship  if  I 
asked  you.  I  cannot  ask  my  father;  he  seems  too  grieved  to 
speak  of  my  mother  at  any  time  ;  but  do  you  think  you  could 
find  out  who  the  lady  was  who  brought  that  locket  to  me  ?  That 
would  be  kind  of  you,  if  you  could  do  that." 


CHAPTER  XVHI. 

HER    ANSWER. 


Humphreys,  the  delegate  from  the  North,  and  O'Halloran,  the 
Irish  reporter,  had  been  invited  by  George  Brand  to  dine  with 
him  on  this  evening  —  Humphreys  having  to  start  for  Wolver- 
hampton next  day — and  the  three  were  just  sitting  down  when 
Lord  Evelyn  called  in,  uninvited,  and  asked  if  he  might  have  a 


HER    ANSWER.  135 

plate  placed  for  him.  Iluniplireys  was  anxious  that  their  host 
should  set  out  with  him  for  the  Xorth  in  the  morning; ;  but  Brand 
would  not  promise,  lie  was  obviously  thinking-  of  other  things. 
He  was  at  once  restless,  preoccupied,  and  silent. 

"I  hope,  mv  lord,  you  have  conic  to  put  our  friend  here  in 
better  spirits,"  said  Humphreys,  blushing  a  little  as  he  ventured 
to  call  one  of  the  Brands  of  Darlington  his  friend. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?" 

At  this  moment  AVaters  appeared  at  the  door  with  a  letter  in 
his  hand.  Brand  instantly  rose,  went  forward  to  him  and  took 
the  letter,  and  retired  into  an  adjoining  room.  Without  looking, 
he  knew  from  whom  it  had  come. 

Ills  hand  was  shaking  as  he  opened  the  envelope ;  but  the 
words  that  met  his  eyes  were  calm. 

*'  My  dear  Friend, — Your  letter  has  given  me  joy  and  pain. 
Joy  that  you  still  adhere  to  your  noble  resolve  ;  that  you  have 
found  gladness  in  your  life  ;  that  you  will  work  on  to  the  end, 
whatever  the  fruit  of  the  work  may  be.  But  this  other  thought 
of  yours — that  only  distresses  me ;  it  clouds  the  future  with  un- 
certainty and  doubt,  where  there  should  only  be  clear  faith.  My 
dear  friend,  1  must  ask  you  to  put  away  that  thought.  Let  the 
feu  sacre  of  the  regenerator,  the  liberator,  have  full  possession  of 
you.  How  I  should  blame  myself  if  I  were  to  distract  you  from 
the  aims  to  which  you  have  devoted  your  life.  I  have  no  one  to 
advise  me ;  but  this  I  know  is  right.  You  will,  I  think,  not  mis- 
understand me — you  will  not  think  it  unmaidenly  of  me — if  I 
confess  to  you  that  I  have  written  these  words  with  some  pain, 
some  touch  of  regret  that  all  is  not  possible  to  you  that  you  may 
desire.  But  for  one  soul  one  devotion.  Do  I  express  myself 
clearly  ? — you  know  English  is  not  my  native  tongue.  If  we 
may  not  go  through  life  together,  in  the  sense  that  you  mean,  we 
need  not  be  far  apart ;  and  you  will  know,  as  you  go  forward  in 
the  path  of  a  noble  duty,  that  there  is  not  any  one  who  regards 
you  and  the  work  you  will  do  with  a  greater  pride  and  affection 
than  your  friend,  Natalie." 

AVhat  could  it  all  mean  ?  he  asked  himself.  This  was  not  the 
letter  of  a  woman  who  loved  another  man;  she  would  have  been 
more  explicit ;  she  would  have  given  sufficient  reason  for  her  re- 


136  SUNRISE. 

fusal.  He  read  again,  with  a  beating  heart,  with  a  wild  hope, 
that  veiled  and  subtle  expression  of  regret.  Was  it  not  that  she 
was  prepared  to  sacrifice  forever  those  dreams  of  a  secure  and 
happy  and  loving  life,  that  come  naturally  to  a  young  girl,  lest 
they  should  interfere  with  what  she  regarded  as  the  higher  duty, 
the  more  imperative  devotion?  In  that  case,  it  was  for  a  firmer 
nature  than  her  own  to  take  this  matter  in  hand.  She  was  but 
a  child ;  knowing  nothing  of  the  sorrows  of  the  world,  of  the 
necessity  of  protection,  of  the  chances  the  years  might  bring. 
Scarcely  conscious  of  what  he  did — so  eagerly  was  his  mind  en- 
gaged— he  opened  a  drawer  and  locked  the  letter  in.  Then  he 
went  hastily  into  the  other  room. 

"  Evelyn,"  said  he,  "  will  you  take  my  place,  like  a  good  fel- 
low? I  shall  be  back  as  soon  as  I  can.  Waters  will  get  you  ev- 
erything you  want." 

"But  about  Wolverhampton,  Mr.  Brand?"  shouted  Humphreys 
after  him. 

There  was  no  answer ;  he  was  half-way  down  the  stairs. 

When  the  hansom  arrived  in  Curzon  Street  a  hurried  glance 
showed  him  that  the  dining-room  was  lit  up.  She  was  at  home, 
then  :  that  was  enough.  For  the  rest,  he  was  not  going  to  trou- 
ble himself  with  formalities  w'hen  so  beautiful  a  prize  might  still 
be  within  his  reach. 

He  knocked  at  the  door;  the  little  Anneli  appeared. 

"  Anneli,"  said  he,  "I  Avant  to  see  Miss  Lind  for  a  moment — 
say  I  shall  not  detain  her,  if  there  is  any  one  with  her — " 

"  They  are  in  the  dining-room,  sir ;  Madame  Potecki,  and  a 
strange  gentleman — " 

"  Ask  your  mistress  to  let  rae  see  her  for  one  moment ;  don't 
you  understand  ?" 

"They  are  just  finishing  dinner,  sir:  if  you  will  step  up  to  the 
drawing-room  they  will  be  there  in  a  minute  or  two." 

But  at  last  he  got  the  little  German  maid  to  understand  that 
he  wished  to  see  Miss  Lind  alone  for  the  briefest  possible  time ; 
and  that  she  was  to  carry  this  message  in  an  undertone  to  her 
mistress.  By  himself  he  made  his  way  up-stairs  to  the  drawing- 
room  :  the  lamps  w^ere  lit. 

He  lifted  books,  photographs,  and  what  not,  with  trembling- 
fingers,  and  put  them  down  again  without  knowing  it.  He  was 
thinking,  not  looking.     And  he  was  trying  to  force  himself  into 


HER    ANSWER.  137 

a  masterful  niootl.  She  was  only  a  child,  he  kept  repeating  to 
himself — only  a  child,  who  wanted  ijuidance,  instruction,  a  pro- 
tecting hand.  It  was  not  her  fancies,  however  generous  and  no- 
ble, that  should  shape  the  destinies  of  two  lives.  A  beautiful 
child,  ignorant  of  the  world  and  its  evil :  full  of  dreams  of  im- 
possible and  unnecessary  self-sacrifice,  she  was  not  one  to  ordain  ; 
surely  her  way  in  life  was  to  be  led,  and  cherished,  and  loved, 
trustina"  to  the  stronger  hand  for  guidance  and  safety. 

There  was  a  slight  rustle  outside,  and  presently  Natalie  entered 
the  room.  She  was  pale — perhaps  she  looked  all  tlie  paler  that 
she  wore  the  long,  sweeping  black  dress  she  had  worn  at  Lady 
Evclvn's.  In  silence  she  gave  him  her  hand ;  he  took  it  in  both 
his. 

"  Natalie !" 

It  was  a  cry  of  entreaty,  almost  of  pain  ;  for  this  fond  vision 
of  his  of  her  being  only  a  child,  to  be  mastered  and  guided,  had 
fled  the  moment  he  caught  sight  of  this  tall  and  beautiful  woman, 
whose  self-command,  despite  that  paleness  and  a  certain  appre- 
hension in  the  dark  eyes,  was  far  greater  than  his  own. 

"Natalie,  you  must  give  me  a  clearer  answer." 

He  tried  to  read  the  answer  in  her  eyes;  but  she  lowered  them 
as  she  spoke. 

"Was  not  my  answer  clear  f  she  said,  gently.  "I  wished  not 
to  give  you  pain." 

"  But  was  all  your  answer  there  ?"  he  said,  quickly.  "  Were 
there  no  other  reasons  ?  Natalie !  don't  you  know  that,  if  you 
reirretted  vour  decision  ever  so  little — if  you  thouo'ht  twice  about 
it — if  even  now  you  can  give  me  leave  to  hope  that  one  day  you 
Avill  be  my  wife — there  were  no  reasons  at  all  in  your  letter  for 
your  refusing — none  at  all  ?  If  you  love  me  even  so  little  that 
you  regret — " 

"  I  must  not  listen  to  you,"  she  said,  hurriedly.  "  No,  no.  My 
answer  was  best  for  us  both.  I  am  sorry  if  it  pains  you  ;  but 
you  have  other  things  to  think  of ;  we  have  our  separate  duties 
in  the  world  —  duties  that  are  of  first  importance.  My  dear 
friend,"  she  continued,  with  an  air  of  appeal,  "don't  you  sec  how 
I  am  situated  ?  I  have  no  one  to  advise  me — not  even  my  fa- 
ther, though  I  can  guess  wliat  he  would  say.  I  know  what  he 
would  say ;  and  my  heart  tells  mc  that  I  have  done  right." 

"One  word,"  said  he.     "This  you  must  answer  me  frankly. 


138  SUNRISE. 

Is  there  no  other  reason  for  your  refusal  ?  Is  your  heart  free  to 
choose  ?" 

She  looked  up  and  met  his  eyes  for  a  moment;  only  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

*'  I  understand  you,"  she  said,  with  some  slight  color  mounting 
to  the  pale  clear  olive  of  her  brow.  "No,  there  is  not  any  rea- 
son like  that." 

A  quick,  proud  light  leaped  into  his  eyes. 

"  Then,"  said  he,  "  I  refuse  to  accept  your  refusal.  Natalie, 
you  will  be  ray  wife  !" 

"Oh,  do  not  say  that — do  not  think  of  it.  I  have  done  wrong 
even  to  listen,  to  let  you  speak — " 

"  But  what  I  say  is  true.  I  claim  you,  as  surely  as  I  now  hold 
your  hand — " 

"  Hush !" 

There  were  two  people  coming  into  the  room  ;  he  did  not  care 
if  there  were  a  regiment.  He  relinquished  her  hand,  it  is  true; 
but  there  was  a  proud  and  grateful  look  on  his  face ;  he  did  not 
even  turn  to  regard  the  new-comers. 

These  were  Madame  Potecki  and  Calabressa.  The  little  Po- 
lish lady  had  misconstrued  Natalie's  parting  words  to  mean  that 
some  visitors  had  arrived,  and  that  she  and  Calabressa  were  to 
follow  when  they  pleased.  Now  that  they  had  appeared  in  the 
drawing-room,  they  could  not  fail  to  perceive  how  matters  stood, 
and,  in  fact,  the  little  gentlewoman  was  on  the  point  of  retiring. 
But  Natalie  was  quite  mistress  of  the  situation.  She  reminded 
Madame  Potecki  that  she  had  met  Mr.  Brand  before.  She  in- 
troduced Calabressa  to  the  stranger,  saying  that  he  was  a  friend 
of  her  father's. 

"It  is  opportune — it  is  a  felicitous  circumstance,"  said  Cala- 
bressa, in  his  nasal  French.  "  Mademoiselle,  behold  the  truth. 
If  I  do  not  have  a  cigarette  after  my  food,  I  die — veritably  I  die  ! 
Now  your  friend,  the  friend  of  the  house,  surely  he  will  take 
compassion  on  me ;  and  we  will  have  a  cigarette  together  in 
some  apartment." 

Here  he  touched  Brand's  elbow,  having  sidled  up  to  him.  On 
any  other  occasion  Brand  would  have  resented  the  touch,  the  in- 
vitation, the  mere  presence  of  this  theatrical-looking  albino.  But 
he  was  not  in  a  captious  mood.  How  could  he  refuse  when  he 
lieard  Natalie  say,  in  her  soft,  low  voice, 


HER    ANSWER.  139 

"Will  you  be  so  kind,  Mr.  Brand  ?  Anneli  will  light  up  papa's 
little  smokiiiix-room." 

JJircctly  afterward  lie  found  liiiiiscif  in  the  small  study,  alone 
with  this  odd-looking  person,  whom  he  easily  recognized  as  the 
stranger  who  had  bcfti  walking  in  the  Park  with  Natalie  in  the 
morning.  Closer  inspection  rendered  him  less  afraid  of  this 
rival. 

Calahressa  rolled  a  cigarette  between  his  fingers,  and  lit  it. 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  monsieur.  I  ask  your  pardon  beforehand. 
I  am  about  to  be  impertinent;  it  is  necessary.  If  you  will  tell 
me  some  things,  I  will  tell  you  some  things  which  it  may  be  bet- 
ter for  you  to  know.  First,  then,  I  assume  that  you  wish  to  mar- 
ry that  dear  child,  that  beautiful  young  lady  up-stairs." 

"  My  good  friend,  you  are  a  little  bit  too  outrageous,"  said 
Brand. 

"Ah!  Then  I  must  begin.  You  know,  perhaps,  that  the 
mother  of  this  young  lady  is  alive  ?" 

"Alive!" 

"I  perceive  you  do  not  know,"  said  Calabressa,  coolly.  "I 
thought  you  would  know — I  thought  you  would  guess.  A  child 
might  guess.  She  told  me  you  had  seen  the  locket — Natalie  to 
NataJushka — was  not  that  enough  ?" 

"  If  Miss  Lind  herself  did  not  guess  that  her  mother  was  alive, 
how  should  I?" 

"  If  you  have  been  brought  up  for  sixteen  or  eighteen  years  to 
mourn  one  as  dead,  you  do  not  quickly  imagine  that  he  or  she  is 
not  dead  :  you  perceive  ?" 

"  Well,  it  is  extraordinary  enough,"  said  Brand,  thoughtfully. 
"  With  such  a  daughter,  if  she  has  the  heart  of  a  mother  at  all, 
how  could  she  remain  away  from  her  for  sixteen  years  ?" 

A  thought  struck  him,  and  his  forehead  colored  quickly. 

"  There  was  no  disgrace  ?" 

At  this  word  Calabressa  started,  and  the  small  eyes  flashed 
fire. 

"  I  tell  you,  monsieur,  that  it  is  not  in  my  presence  that  any 
one  must  mention  the  word  disgrace  and  also  the  name  of  Na- 
talie Berczolyi.  No;  I  will  answer — I  myself — I  will  answer  for 
the  good  name  of  Natalie  Berezolyi,  by  the  bounty  of  IIea\  en  1" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  You  are  ignorant — you  made  a  mistake.     And  I — well,  you 


140  SUNRISE. 

perceive,  monsieur,  that  I  am  not  ashamed  to  confess — I  loved 
her;  she  was  the  radiant  light,  the  star  of  my  life  !" 

"La  lumierc  rayonuante,  retoile  de  ma  vie!"  —  the  phrases 
sounded  ridiculous  enough  when  uttered  by  this  hij^trionic  per- 
son;  but  even  his  self-conscious  gesticulation  did  not  offend 
Brand.     This  man,  at  all  events,  had  loved  the  mother  of  Natalie. 

"  Then  it  was  some  very  powerful  motive  that  kept  mother 
and  daughter  apart  ?"  said  lie. 

"  Yes  ;  I  cannot  explain  it  all  to  you,  if  I  quite  know  it  all. 
But  every  year  the  mother  comes  with  a  birthday  present  of 
flowers  for  the  child,  and  watches  to  see  her  once  or  twice  ;  and 
then  away  back  she  goes  to  the  retreat  of  her  father.  Ah,  tlie 
devotion  of  that  beautiful  saint !  If  there  is  a  heaven  at  all,  Na- 
talie Berezolyi  will  be  among  the  angels." 

"  Then  you  have  come  to  tell  Natalie  that  her  mother  is  alive. 
I  envy  you.     How  grateful  the  girl  will  be  to  you !" 

"  I  ?  What,  I  ?  No,  truly,  I  dare  not.  And  that  is  why  I 
wish  to  speak  to  you :  I  thought  perhaps  you  would  guess,  or 
find  out :  then  I  say,  do  not  utter  a  woi-d  !  Why  do  I  give  you 
this  secret?  Why  have  I  sought  to  speak  with  you,  monsieur? 
Well,  if  you  will  not  speak,  I  will.  Something  the  little  Nata- 
lushka  said — to  me  she  must  always  be  the  little  Natalushka  in 
name,  though  she  is  so  handsome  a  woman  now — something  she 
said  to  me  revealed  a  little  secret.  Then  I  said,  '  Perhaps  Nata- 
lushka will  have  a  happier  life  than  Natalie  has  had,  only  her 
husband  must  be  discreet.'  Now,  monsieur,  listen  to  me.  What 
I  said  to  Natalushka  I  say  to  you  :  do  not  thwart  her  father's 
wishes.    He  is  a  determined  man,  and  angry  when  he  is  opposed." 

"  My  good  sir,  other  people  may  have  an  ounce  or  two  of  de- 
termination also.  You  mean  that  I  must  never  let  Natalie  know 
that  her  mother  is  alive,  for  fear  of  Lind?  Is  that  what  you 
mean  ?     Come,  then  !" 

He  strode  to  the  door,  and  had  his  hand  on  the  handle,  when 
Calabressa  jumped  up  and  caught  him,  and  interposed. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake — for  Heaven's  sake,  monsieur,  why  be  so 
inconsiderate,  so  rash  ?" 

"  Has  the  dread  of  this  man  Lind  frightened  you  out  of  your 
wits?" 

"He  is  invulnerable — and  implacable,"  said  Calabressa.  "But 
lie  is  a  good  friend  when  he  has  his  own  way.     Why  not  be 


HER    ANSWER.  141 

friends?  You  will  have  to  ask  liiin  for  his  daughter.  Consider, 
monsieur,  that  is  something." 

"  Well,  there  is  reason  in  that,"  Brand  said,  reflective))'.  "  And 
I  am  inclined  to  be  friendly  with  every  one  to-night,  Signor  Cal- 
abressa.  It  may  be  that  Lind  has  his  reasons ;  and  he  is  the  nat- 
ural guardian  of  his  daughter — at  present.  But  she  might  have 
another  guardian,  Signor  Calabressa?" 

"The  wicked  one! — she  has  promised  herself  to  you?  And 
slie  told  me  she  had  no  sweethearts,  the  rogue !" 

"No,  she  has  not  promised.  But  what  n)ay  not  one  dare  to 
hope  for,  when  one  sees  her  so  generous  and  kind  ?  She  is  like 
her  mother,  is  she  not  ?  Now  1  am  going  to  slip  away,  Signor 
Calabressa ;  when  you  have  had  another  cigarette,  will  you  go  up- 
stairs and  explain  to  the  two  ladies  that  I  have  three  friends  who 
are  now  dining  at  my  house,  and  I  must  get  back  to  them?" 

Calabressa  rose,  and  took  the  taller  man's  hand  in  his. 

"  I  think  our  little  Natahishka  is  right  in  trusting  herself  to 
you ;  I  think  you  will  be  kind  to  her ;  1  know  you  will  be  brave 
enough  to  protect  her.  All  very  well.  But  you  English  are  so 
headstrong.  AVhy  not  a  little  caution,  a  little  prudence,  to  smooth 
the  way  through  life  ?" 

Brand  lauo:lied;  but  he  had  taken  a  liking  to  this  odd-looking 
man. 

"  Now,  good-night,  Signor  Calabressa.  You  have  done  me  a 
great  service.  And  if  Natalie's  mother  wishes  to  see  her  daugh- 
ter— well,  I  tliink  the  opportunity  will  come.  In  the  mean  time, 
I  will  be  quite  cautious  and  prudent,  and  compromise  nobody ; 
even  if  I  cannot  wholly  promise  to  tremble  at  the  name  of  the 
Invulnerable  and  the  Implacable." 

"Ah,  monsieur,''  said  Calabressa,  with  a  sigh,  his  gay  gesticu- 
lation having  quite  left  him,  "I  hope  I  have  done  no  mischief. 
It  was  all  for  tlic  little  Natalushka.  It  will  be  so  much  bettor 
for  you  and  for  her  to  be  on  good  terms  with  Ferdinand  Lind.'' 

"  We  will  see,"  Brand  said,  lightly.  "The  people  in  this  part 
of  the  world  generally  do  as  they're  done  by." 


142  SUNRISE. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

AT    THE    CULTURVEREIN. 

On  calm  reflection,  Calabressa  gave  himself  the  benefit  of  his 
own  approval ;  and,  on  the  whole,  was  rather  proud  of  his  diplo- 
macy. He  had  revealed  enough,  and  not  too  much ;  he  had 
given  the  headstrong  Englishman  prudent  warnings  and  judicious 
counsel;  he  had  donj  what  he  could  for  the  future  of  the  little 
Natalushka,  who  was  the  daughter  of  Natalie  Berezolyi.  But 
there  was  something  more. 

He  went  up-stairs, 

"  My  dear  little  one,"  he  said,  in  his  queer  French,  "  behold  me 
— I  come  alone.  Your  English  friend  sends  a  thousand  apolo- 
gies— he  has  to  return  to  his  guests :  is  it  an  English  custom  to 
leave  guests  in  such  a  manner  ?  Ah,  Madame  Potecki,  there  is  a 
time  in  one's  life  when  one  does  strange  things,  is  there  not? 
When  a  farewell  before  strangers  is  hateful — impossible  ;  when 
you  rather  go  away  silently  than  come  before  strangers  and  shake 
hands,  and  all  the  rest.  What,  wicked  little  one,  you  look 
alarmed !  Is  it  a  secret,  then  ?  Does  not  madame  guess  any- 
thing?" 

"  I  entreat  you,  Signor  Calabressa,  not  to  speak  in  riddles,"  said 
Natalie,  hastily.  "  See,  here  is  a  telegram  from  papa.  He  will 
be  back  in  London  on  Monday  next  week.  You  can  stay  to  see 
him,  can  you  not  ?" 

"  Mademoiselle,  do  you  not  understand  that  I  am  not  my  own 
master  for  two  moments  in  succession  ?  For  this  present  mo- 
ment I  am ;  the  next  I  may  be  under  orders.  But  if  my  free- 
dom, my  holiday,  lasts — yes,  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  your  father, 
and  I  will  wait.  In  the  mean  time,  I  must  use  up  my  present 
moment.     Can  you  give  me  the  address  of  Vincent  Beratinsky  ?" 

She  wrote  it  down  for  him  ;  it  was  a  number  in  Oxford  Street. 

"  Now  I  will  add  my  excuses  to  those  of  the  tall  Englishman," 
said  he,  rising.  "Good-night,  madame.  Good-night,  mademoi- 
selle— truly,  it  is  a  folly  to  call  you  the  little  Natalushka,  who  are 


AT    THE    CULTURVEREIN.  143 

taller  than  your  beautiful  mother.  But  it  was  the  little  Nata- 
luslika  I  was  thirikiiitz;  about  for  many  a  year.  Good- night, 
wicked  little  one,  with  vour  secrets !" 

He  kissed  her  hand,  bowed  once  more  to  the  little  Polish  lady, 
and  left. 

When,  after  considerable  difficulty  —  for  he  was  excecdinLfly 
near-sii^hted — he  made  out  the  number  in  Oxford  Street,  he  found 
another  caller  just  leaving.  This  stranger  glanced  at  him,  and 
instantly  said,  in  a  low  voice, 

"  The  night  is  dark,  brother." 

Calabressa  started ;  but  the  other  gave  one  or  two  signs  that 
reassured  hiin. 

"  I  knew  you  were  in  London,  signore,  and  I  recognized  you ; 
we  have  your  photograph  in  Lisle  Street.     My  name  is  Reitzei — " 

"Ah!"  Calabressa  e.velaimed,  with  a  new  interest,  as  he  looked 
at  the  pallid-faced  young  man. 

"And  if  you  wish  to  see  Beratinsky,  I  will  take  you  to  him. 
T  find  he  is  at  the  Culturverein  :  I  was  going  there  myself."  So 
Calabressa  suffered  himself  to  be  led  away. 

At  this  time  the  Culturverein  used  to  meet  in  a  large  hall  in  a 
narrow  lane  off  Oxford  Street.  It  was  an  association  of  persons, 
mostly  German,  connected  in  some  way  or  other  with  art,  music, 
or  letters — a  merry-hearted,  free-and-easy  little  band  of  people, 
who  met  every  evening  to  laugh  and  talk  and  joke  and  gener- 
ally forget  the  world  and  all  its  cares.  The  evening  usually  be- 
gan with  Bavarian  beer,  sonatas,  and  comic  lectures ;  then  Rhine 
wines  began  to  appear,  and  of  course  these  brought  with  them 
songs  of  love,  and  friendship,  and  patriotism ;  occasionally,  when 
the  older  and  wiser  folk  had  gone,  sweet  champagne  and  a  wild 
frolic  prevailed  until  daylight  came  to  drive  the  revellers  out. 
Beratinsky  belonged  to  the  Verein  by  reason  of  his  having  at  one 
time  betaken  himself  to  water-color  drawing,  in  order  to  keep 
himself  alive. 

When  Calabressa  entered  the  large,  long  hall,  the  walls  of 
which  were  plentifully  hung  with  sketches  in  color  and  cartoons 
in  black  and  white,  the  fertiff  ! — los  !  period  had  not  arrived.  On 
the  contrary,  the  meeting  was  exceedingly  demure,  almost  dull; 
for  a  German  music  professor,  seated  at  the  piano  on  the  plat- 
form, was  playing  one  of  his  own  compositions,  which,  however 
beautiful,  was  of  considerable  length;  and  his  audience  had  re- 


144  SUNRISE. 

lapsed  into  half-huslied  conversation  over  their  light  cigars  and 
tall  glasses  of  Bairisch. 

Beratinsky  Lad  to  come  along  to  the  entrance-hall  to  enter  the 
names  of  his  visitors  in  a  book.  He  was  a  little  man,  somewhat 
corpulent,  with  bushy  black  eyebrows,  intensely  black  eyes,  and 
l)lack  closely-cropped  beard.  The  head  was  rather  handsome; 
the  figure  not. 

"  Ah,  Calabressa,  you  have  come  alive  again  !"  he  said,  speaking 
in  pretty  fair  Italian.  "  We  heard  you  were  in  London.  \Yhat 
is  it  ?" 

The  last  phrase  was  uttered  in  a  low  voice,  thougli  there  was 
no  by-stauder.     But  Calabressa,  with  a  lofty  gesture,  replied, 

"My  friend,  we  are  not  always  on  commissions.  Sometimes 
we  have  a  little  liberty — a  little  money — a  notion  in  our  head. 
And  if  one  cannot  exactly  travel  en  prince,  n^ importe !  we  have 
our  little  excursion.  And  if  one  has  one's  sweetheart  to  see? 
Do  you  know,  friend  Beratinsky,  that  I  have  been  dining  with 
Natalie — the  little  Natalushka,  as  she  used  to  be  called  ?" 

Beratinsky  glanced  quickly  at  him  with  the  black,  piercing 
eyes. 

"  Ah,  the  beautiful  child  !  the  beautiful  child  !"  Calabressa  ex- 
claimed, as  if  he  were  addressing  some  one  not  present.  "  The 
mouth  sweet,  pathetic,  like  that  in  Titian's  Assumption  :  you  have 
seen  the  picture  in  the  Venice  Academy  ?  But  she  is  darker  than 
Titian's  Virgin ;  she  is  of  the  black,  handsome  Magyar  breed, 
like  her  mother.     You  never  saw  lier  mother,  Beratinsky  ?" 

"  No,"  said  the  other,  rather  surlily.  "  Come,  sit  down  and 
have  a  cigar." 

"  A  cigarette — a  cigarette  and  a  little  cognac,  if  you  please," 
said  Calabressa,  when  the  three  companions  had  gone  along  to 
the  middle  of  the  hall  and  taken  their  seats.  "Ah,  it  was  such  a 
surprise  to  me :  the  sight  of  her  grown  to  be  a  woman,  and  the 
perfect,  beautiful  image  of  her  mother — the  very  voice  too — I 
could  have  thought  it  was  a  dream." 

"  Did  you  come  here  to  talk  of  nothing  but  Lind's  daughter  ?" 
said  Beratinsky,  with  scant  courtesy. 

"Precisely,"  remarked  Calabressa,  in  absolute  good- humor. 
"But  before  that  a  word." 

He  glanced  round  this  assemblage  of  foreigti-looking  persons, 
no  doubt  guessing  at  the  various  nationalities  indicated  by  phy. 


AT    THE    CULTURVEREIN.  145 

sique  and  complexion  —  Prussian,  Pole,  Rhinclander,  Swiss,  and 
what  not.  If  the  company,  in  English  eyes,  might  have  louked 
Bohemian — that  is  to  say,  unconventional  in  manner  and  costume 
— the  Bohemianisni,  at  all  events,  was  of  a  well-to-do,  cheerful, 
good-humored  character.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  talking  be- 
sides the  music. 

"These  gentlemen,"  said  Calabrcssa,  in  a  low  voice,  "are  they 
friends — are  they  with  us?" 

"  Only  one  or  two,"  said  Beratinsky. 

"  You  do  not  come  here  to  proselytize,  then  ?" 

"  One  must  anmse  one's  self  sometimes,"  said  the  little,  fat, 
black-haired  Pole,  somewhat  grufliy. 

"Then  one  must  take  care  what  one  says?" 

"  I  presume  that  is  generally  the  case,  friend  Calabressa." 

But  Calabressa  was  not  offended,  lie  was  interested  in  what 
was  going  on. 

"  Par  cxemple,"  he  said,  in  his  airy  way,  "  que  vient  faire  la  le 
drole  r 

The  music  had  come  to  an  end,  and  the  spectacled  professor 
had  retired  amidst  a  thunder  of  applause,  llis  successor,  who 
had  attracted  Calabressa's  attention,  was  a  gentleman  who  had 
mounted  on  a  high  easel  an  immense  portfolio  of  cartoons  rough- 
ly executed  in  crayon  ;  and  as  he  exhibited  them  one  by  one,  he 
pointed  out  their  characteristics  with  a  long  stick,  after  the  man- 
ner of  a  showman.  His  demeanor  was  serious ;  his  face  was 
grave ;  his  tone  was  simple  and  business-like.  But  as  he  unfold- 
ed these  rude  drawings,  Calabressa,  who  understood  but  little 
German,  was  more  and  more  astonished  to  find  the  guttural 
laughter  around  him  increase  and  increase  until  the  whole  place 
resounded  with  roars,  while  some  of  the  old  Herren  held  their 
sides  in  pain,  as  the  tears  of  this  gigantic  mirth  streamed  down 
their  cheeks.  Those  who  were  able  hammered  loud  applause  on 
the  table  before  them  ;  others  rolled  in  their  chairs ;  many  could 
only  lie  back  and  send  their  merriment  up  to  the  reverberating- 
roof  in  shrill  shrieks  and  yells. 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  what  is  it  all  about  ?"  said  Calabressa. 
"  Have  the  people  gone  mad  V 

"  Illustrations  of  German  proverbs,"  said  Beratinsky,  who,  de- 
spite his  surly  manner,  was  himself  forced  to  smile. 

Well,  Calabressa  had  indeed  come  here  to  talk  about  Lind's 

7 


146  SUNRISE. 

daughter ;  but  it  was  impossible,  amidst  this  wild  surging  to  and 
fro  of  Olympian  laughter.  At  last,  however,  the  showman  came 
to  an  end  of  his  cartoons,  and  solemnly  made  his  bow,  and  amidst 
tumultuous  cheering  resumed  his  place  among  his  companions. 

There  was  a  pause,  given  over  to  chatter  and  joking,  and  Cala- 
bressa  quickly  embraced  this  opportunity. 

"  You  are  a  friend  of  the  little  Natalushka — of  the  beautiful 
Natalie,  I  should  say,  perhaps  ?" 

"  Lind's  daughter  does  not  choose  to  have  many  friends,"  said 
Beratinsky,  curtly. 

This  was  not  promising ;  and,  indeed,  the  corpulent  little  Pole 
showed  great  disinclination  to  talk  about  the  young  lady  who  had 
so  laid  hold  of  Calabressa's  heart.  But  Calabressa  was  not  to  be 
denied,  when  it  was  the  welfare  of  the  daughter  of  Natalie  Bere- 
zolyi  that  was  concerned. 

"  Yes,  yes,  friend  Beratinsky,  of  course  she  is  very  much  alone. 
It  is  rather  a  sad  thing  for  a  young  girl  to  be  so  much  alone." 

"  And  if  she  chooses  to  be  alone  ?"  said  Beratinsky,  with  a 
sharpness  that  resembled  the  snarl  of  a  terrier. 

Perhaps  it  was  to  get  rid  of  the  topic  that  Beratinsky  here 
joined  in  a  clamorous  call  for  "  Nageli !  Nageli !"  Presently  a 
fresh-colored  young  Switzer,  laughing  and  blushing  tremendous- 
ly, went  up  to  the  platform  and  took  his  seat  at  the  piano,  and 
struck  a  few  noisy  chords.  It  was  a  Tyrolese  song  he  sung,  with 
a  jodel  refrain  of  his  own  invention  : 

"  Hat  einer  ein  Schatzerl, 
So  Vjleibt  er  dabei, 
Er  nimmt  sie  zum  Weiberl, 
Und  liebt  sie  recht  treu. 
Dann  fangt  man  die  Wirthschaft 
Gemeinschaftlich  an, 
Und  leibt  sich,  und  herzt  sich 
So  sehr  als  man  kann !" 

Great  cheering  followed  the   skilfully  executed  jodel.      In  the 
midst  of  it,  one  of  the  members  rose  and  said,  in  German, 

"  Meine  Herren  !  You  know  our  good  friend  Nageli  is  going 
to  leave  us  ;  perhaps  we  shall  not  see  him  again  for  many  years. 
I  challenge  you  to  drink  this  toast :  '  Nageli,  and  his  quick  re- 
turn !'  I  say  to  him  what  some  of  the  shopkeepers  in  our  Fa- 
ther-land say  to  their  customers,  'Komraen  Sie  bald  wieder!'  " 


AT    TUE    CULTURVEREIN.  147 

Here  there  was  a  great  shouting  of  "  Niigcli !  Niigeli !"  until 
one  started  the  chorus,  which  was  immediately  and  sonorously 
sung  by  the  whole  assemblage, 

"  IToch  soil  er  leben ! 
Iloch  soil  er  leben  ! 
Dreimal  hocli !" 

Another  pause,  chiefly  devoted  to  the  ordering  of  Uochheimcr 
and  the  liirhtintr  of  fresh  cigars.  The  souls  of  the  sons  of  the 
Father-land  were  beginning  to  warm. 

"  Friend  Beratinsky,"  said  the  anxious-hearted  albino,  "  per- 
haps yon  know  that  many  years  ago  I  knew  the  mother  of  Nata- 
lie Liud  ;  she  was  a  neighbor — a  companion — of  mine ;  and  I  am 
interested  in  the  little  one.  A  young  girl  sometimes  has  need  of 
friends.     Now,  you  are  in  a  position — " 

"  Friend  Calabressa,  you  may  save  your  breath,"  said  the  other, 
coldly.  "  The  young  lady  might  have  had  my  friendship  if  she 
had  chosen.  She  did  not  choose.  I  suppose  she  is  old  enough 
— and  proud  enough — to  choose  her  own  friends.  Yes,  yes, 
friend  Calabressa,  I  have  heard.  But  we  will  say  nothing  more  : 
now  listen  to  this  comical  fellow." 

Calabressa  was  not  thinking  of  the  young  Englishman  who 
now  sat  down  to  the  piano ;  a  strange  suspicion  was  beginning  to 
fill  his  mind.  Was  it  possible,  he  began  inwardly  to  ask,  that 
Vincent  Beratinsky  had  himself  aspired  to  marry  the  beautiful 
Hungarian  girl  ? 

This  gi>od-looking  young  English  fellow,  with  a  gravity  equal 
to  that  of  the  sham  showman,  explained  to  his  audience  that  he 
was  composing  an  operetta,  of  which  he  would  give  them  a  few 
passages.  He  was  a  skilful  pianist,  lie  explained,  as  his  fingers 
ran  up  and  down  the  keys,  that  the  scene  was  in  Ratcliffe  High- 
way. A  tavern  :  a  hornpipe.  Jack  ashore.  Unseemly  squabbles  : 
here  there  were  harsh  discords  and  shrill  screams.  Drunkenness : 
the  music  getting  very  helpless.  Then  the  daylight  comes — the 
chirping  of  sparrows  —  Jack  wanders  out  —  the  breath  of  the 
morning  stirs  his  memories  —  he  thinks  of  other  days.  Then 
comes  in  Jack's  song,  which  neither  Calabressa  nor  any  one  else 
present  could  say  was  meant  to  be  comic,  or  pathetic,  or  a  de- 
moniac mixture  of  both.  The  accompaniment  which  the  hand- 
some young  English  fellow  played  was  at  once  rhythmical,  and 
low  and  sad,  like  the  wash  of  waves: 


148  SUNRISE. 

"  Oil,  the  days  were  long, 

And  the  summers  were  long, 
When  Jane  and  I  went  courtin' ; 

The  hills  were  blue  beyond  the  sky ; 

The  heather  was  soft  where  we  did  lie ; 

We  kissed  our  fill,  did  Jane  and  I, 
When  Jane  and  I  went  courtin'. 

"  When  Jane  and  I  went  courtin'. 
Oh,  the  days  were  long, 
And  the  summers  were  long ! 
We  walked  by  night  beyond  the  quay ; 
Above,  the  stars  ;  below,  the  sea  ; 
And  I  kissed  Jane,  and  Jane  kissed  me. 
When  Jane  and  I  went  courtin'. 

■'  But  Jane  she  married  the  sodger-chap  ; 
An  end  to  me  and  my  courtin'. 
And  I  took  ship,  and  here  I  am  ; 
And  where  I  go,  I  care  not  a  damn — 
Rio,  Jamaica,  Seringapatam — 
Good-bye  to  Jane  and  the  courtin'." 

This  second  professor  of  gravity  was  abundantly  cheered  too 
when  he  rose  from  the  piano ;  for  the  music  was  quaint  and  origi- 
nal, with  a  sort  of  unholy,  grotesque  pathos  running  through  it. 
Calabressa  resumed : 

"  ■'^^y  gt)od  Beratinsky,  what  is  it  that  you  have  heard?" 

"  No  matter.  Natalie  Lind  has  no  need  of  your  good  offices, 
Calabressa.  She  can  make  friends  for  herself,  and  quickly 
enough,  too." 

Calabressa's  eyes  were  not  keen,  but  his  ears  were ;  he  detect- 
ed easily  the  personal  rancor  in  the  man's  tone. 

"You  are  speaking  of  some  one:  the  Englishman?" 

Beratinsky  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Listen,  Reitzei !  Even  my  good  friend  Calabressa  perceives. 
He,  too,  has  encountered  the  Englishman.  Oh  yes,  we  must  all 
give  way  to  him,  else  he  will  stamp  on  our  toes  with  his  thick 
English  boots.  You,  Reitzei :  how  long  is  he  to  allow  you  to  re- 
tain your  office  ?" 

"  Better  for  him  if  he  does  not  interfere  with  me,"  said  the 
younger  man.  "I  was  always  against  the  English  being  allowed 
to  become  officers.  They  are  too  arrogant ;  they  want  every- 
thing under  their  direction.  Take  their  money,  but  keep  them 
outside :  that  would  have  been  my  rule." 


FIDELIO.  140 

"And  this  EnoTishman,"  said  Bcratinsky,  with  a  smile,  thougli 
there  was  the  light  of  malice  in  his  eye,  "this  Englishman  is 
not  content  with  wanting  to  have  the  mastery  of  poor  devils  like 
you  and  me ;  he  also  wishes  to  marry  the  beautiful  Natalie — the 
beautiful  Natalie,  who  has  hitherto  been  as  proud  as  the  Princess 
liriinhilda.  Now,  now,  friend  Calabrcssa,  do  not  protest.  Ev- 
ery one  has  ears,  has  eyes.  And  when  papa  Lind  comes  home — 
when  he  finds  that  this  Englishman  has  been  making  a  fool  of 
him,  and  professing  great  zeal  when  he  was  only  trying  to  steal 
away  the  daughter — what  then,  friend  Calabressa?" 

"A  girl  must  marry,"  said  Calabressa. 

"  I  tliought  she  was  too  proud  to  think  of  such  things,"  said 
the  other,  scornfully.  "  However,  I  entreat  you  to  say  no  more. 
What  concern  have  I  with  Natalie  Lind  ?  I  tell  you,  let  her  make 
more  new  friends." 

Calabressa  sat  silent,  his  heart  as  heavy  as  lead.  He  had  come 
with  some  notion  that  he  Avould  secure  one  other — powerful,  and 
in  all  of  Lind's  secrets — on  whom  Natalie  could  rely,  should  any 
emergency  occur  in  whicli  she  needed  help.  But  these  jealous 
and  envious  taunts,  these  malignant  prophecies,  only  too  clearly 
showed  him  in  what  relation  Vincent  Beratinsky  stood  with  re- 
gard to  the  daughter  of  Natalie  Bcrezolyi  and  the  Englishman, 
her  lover. 

Calabressa  sat  silent.  When  some  one  began  to  play  the 
zither,  he  was  thinking  not  of  the  Culturverein  in  London,  but  of 
the  dark  pine-woods  above  the  Erlau,  and  of  the  house  there,  and 
of  Natalie  Berczolyi  as  she  played  in  the  evening.  lie  would 
ask  Natalushka  if  she,  too,  played  the  zither. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

FIDELIO. 

George  Brand  walked  atVay  from  the  house  in  Curzon  Street 
in  a  sort  of  bewilderment  of  hope  and  happiness  and  gratitude. 
He  would  even  try  to  accept  Calabressa's  well-meant  counsel : 
why  should  he  not  be  friends  with  everybody  ?  The  world  had 
grown  very  beautiful ;  there  was  to  be  no  more  quarrelling  in  it, 
or  envy,  or  malice. 


150  SUNRISE. 

In  the  dark  he  almost  ran  against  a  rao-jred  little  child  who  was 
selling  flowers. 

"  Will  you  buy  a  rose-bud,  sir  ?"  said  she. 

"  AVhat  ?"  he  said,  severely,  "  selling  flowers  at  this  time  of 
night?  Get  away  hoine  with  you  and  get  your  supper,  and  go 
to  bed ;"  but  he  spoiled  the  effect  of  his  sharp  admonition  by 
giving  the  girl  all  the  silver  he  had  in  his  pocket. 

He  found  the  little  dinner-party  in  a  most  loquacious  mood. 
O'Halloran  in  especial  was  in  full  swing.  The  internal  economy 
of  England  was  to  be  readjusted.  The  capital  must  be  trans- 
ferred to  the  centre  of  the  real  wealth  and  brain-power  of  the 
country — that  is  to  say,  somewhere  about  Leeds  or  Manchester. 
This  proposition  greatly  pleased  Humphreys,  the  man  from  the 
North,  who  was  quite  willing  to  let  the  Royal  Academy,  the 
South  Kensington  and  National  Galleries,  and  the  British  Museum 
remain  in  London,  so  long  as  the  seat  of  government  was  trans- 
ferred to  Huddersfield  or  thereabouts.  But  O'Halloran  drew 
such  a  harrowing  picture  of  the  effect  produced  on  the  South  of 
England  intellect  by  its  notorious  and  intense  devotion  to  the 
arts,  that  Humphreys  was  almost  convicted  of  cruelty. 

However,  if  these  gi'aceless  people  thought  to  humbug  the 
hard-headed  man  from  the  North,  he  succeeded  on  one  occasion 
in  completely  silencing  his  chief  enemy,  O'Halloran.  That  lover 
of  paradox  and  idle  speculation  was  tracing  the  decline  of  super- 
stition to  the  introduction  of  the  nse  of  steam,  and  was  showing- 
how,  wherever  railways  went  in  India,  ghosts  disappeared  ;  where- 
upon the  Darlington  man  calmly  retorted  that,  as  far  as  he  could 
see,  the  railways  in  this  country  were  engaged  in  making  as  many 
ghosts  as  they  could  possibly  disperse  in  India.  Tins  flank  at- 
tack completely  surprised  and  silenced  the  light  skirmisher,  who 
sought  safety  in  lighting  another  cigar. 

More  serious  matters,  however,  were  also  talked  about,  and 
Humphreys  was  eager  that  Brand  should  go  down  to  Wolver- 
hampton with  him  next  morning.  Brand  pleaded  but  for  one 
day's  delay.  Humphreys  reminded  him  that  certain  members  of 
the  Political  Committee  of  the  Trades-union  Congress  would  be 
at  Wolverhampton,  and  that  he  had  promised  to  see  them.  Af- 
ter that,  silence. 

At  last,  as  Humphreys  and  O'Halloran  were  leaving,  Brand 
said,  with  an  effort, 


FIDEHO.  151 

"  No,  it  is  no  use,  Humphreys.  I  rmist  remain  in  London  one 
more  duy.  Yon  go  down  to-morrow ;  I  shall  come  by  the  first 
train  next  morning.  Molyneux  and  the  others  won't  be  leaving 
for  some  days." 

"  Very  well,  sir  ;  good-night,  sir." 

Brand  returned  into  tlie  room,  and  tlirew  liimself  into  an  easy- 
chair;  his  only  companion  now  was  his  old  friend  Evelyn. 

The  younger  man  regarded  him. 

"  I  can  tell  the  whole  story,  Brand ;  I  have  been  reading  it 
in  your  face.  You  were  troubled  and  perplexed  before  you  got 
that  letter.  It  gave  you  some  hope.  Off  you  went  to  see  Nata- 
lie ;  you  came  back  with  something  in  your  manner  that  told  me 
you  had  seen  her  and  had  been  received  favorably.  Now  it  is 
only  one  more  day  of  happiness  you  hunger  for,  before  going  up 
to  the  hard  work  of  the  North.  Well,  I  don't  wonder.  But,  at 
the  same  time,  you  look  a  little  too  restless  and  anxious  for  a  man 
who  has  just  won  such  a  beautiful  sweetheart." 

"I  am  not  so  lucky  as  that,  Evelyn,"  said  he, absently. 

"  What,  you  did  not  see  her?" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  saw  her ;  and  I  hope.  But  of  course  one  craves 
for  some  full  assurance  when  such  a  prize  is  within  reach ;  and 
— and  I  suppose  one's  nerves  are  a  little  excited,  so  that  you  im- 
agine possibilities  and  dangers — " 

He  rose,  and  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  It  is  the  old  story,  Evelyn.     I  distrust  Lind." 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?" 

"  As  you  say,  what  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?  If  I  had  Natalie's 
full  promise, I  should  care  for  nothing.  She  is  a  woman;  she  is 
not  a  school-girl,  to  be  frightened.  If  I  had  only  that,  I  should 
start  off  for  the  North  with  a  light  heart." 

"  Why  not  secure  it,  then  ?" 

"  Perhaps  it  is  scarcely  fair  to  force  myself  on  her  at  present 
until  her  father  returns.  Then  she  will  be  more  her  own  mis- 
tress. But  the  doubt — I  don't  know  when  1  may  be  back  from 
the  North — "  At  last  he  stopped  short.  '*  Yes,  I  will  see  her 
to-morrow  at  all  hazards." 

By-and-by  he  began  to  tell  his  friend  of  the  gay-hearted  old 
albino  he  had  encountered  at  Lind's  house;  though  in  the  mean 
time  he  reserved  to  himself  the  secret  of  Natalie's  mother  being 
alive. 


152  SUNRISE. 

"Lind  must  have  an  extraordinary  faculty,"  he  said  at  length, 
"  of  inspiring  fear,  and  of  getting  people  to  obey  him." 

"  He  does  not  look  a  ferocious  person,"  Lord  Evelyn  said,  with 
a  smile.  "  I  have  always  found  him  very  courteous  and  pleasant 
— frank,  amiable,  and  all  the  rest  of  it." 

"  And  yet  here  is  this  man  Calabressa,  an  old  friend  of  his ; 
and  he  talks  of  Lind  with  a  sort  of  mysterious  awe.  He  is  not 
a  man  whom  you  must  think  of  thwarting.  He  is  the  Invulner- 
able, the  Implacable.  The  fact  is,  I  was  inclined  to  laugh  at  my 
good  friend  Calabressa ;  but  all  the  same,  it  was  quite  apparent 
that  the  effect  Lind  had  produced  on  his  mind  was  real  enough." 

"  Well,  you  know,"  said  Lord  Evelyn,  "  Lind  has  a  great  or- 
ganization to  control,  and  he  must  be  a  strict  disciplinarian.  It 
is  the  object  of  his  life ;  everything  else  is  of  minor  importance. 
Even  you  confess  that  you  admire  his  tremendous  power  of 
work." 

"  Yes,  I  do.  I  admire  his  administrative  capacity ;  it  is  won- 
derful. But  I  don't  believe  for  a  moment  that  it  was  his  mind 
that  projected  this  big  scheme.  That  must  have  been  the  work 
of  an  idealist,  perhaps  of  a  dozen  of  them,  all  adding  and  help- 
inof.  I  think  he  almost  said  as  much  to  me  one  night.  His 
business  is  to  keep  the  machinery  in  working  order,  and  he  does 
it  to  perfection." 

"There  is  one  thing  about  him  :  he  never  forgets,  and  he  never 
forgives.     You  remember  the  story  of  Count  Verdt  ?" 

"  I  have  cause  to  remember  it.  I  thought  for  a  moment  the 
wretch  had  committed  suicide  because  I  caught  him  cheating." 

"  I  have  been  told  that  Lind  played  with  that  fellow  like  a  cat 
with  a  mouse.  Verdt  got  hints  from  time  to  time  that  his  pun- 
ishment as  a  traitor  was  overtaking  him  ;  and  yet  he  was  allowed 
to  live  on  in  constant  fear.  And  it  was  the  Caraorra,  and  not 
Lind,  or  any  of  Lind's  friends,  who  finished  him  after  all." 

"  Well,  that  was  implacable  enough,  to  be  sure  ;  to  have  death 
dogging  the  poor  wretch's  heels,  and  yet  refusing  to  strike." 

"  For  myself,  I  don't  pity  him  much,"  said  Lord  Evelyn,  as  he 
rose  and  buttoned  his  coat.  "  He  was  a  fool  to  think  he  could 
play  such  a  trick  and  escape  the  consequences.  Now,  Brand, 
how  am  I  to  hear  from  you  to-morrow  ?  You  know  I  am  in  a 
measure  responsible." 

"However  it  ends,  I  am  grateful  to  you,  Evelyn;  you  may  be 


FIDELIO.  153 

sure  of  that.     I  will  write  to  yon  from  Wolvcrliaiupton,  and  let 
you  know  the  worst,  or  the  best." 

"  The  best,  then  :  we  will  have  no  worsts." 

lie  said  good-bye,  and  went  whistling  cheerfully  down  the  nar- 
row oak  staircase.  He  at  least  was  not  very  apprehensive  about 
the  results  of  the  next  day's  interview. 

But  how  brief  was  this  one  day,  with  its  rapidly  passing  op- 
portunities; and  then  the  stern  necessity  for  departure  and  ab- 
sence. He  spent  half  the  iiio-ht  in  devising  how  best  he  could 
get  speech  of  her,  in  a  roundabout  fashion,  without  the  dread  of 
the  interference  of  friends.  And  at  last  he  hit  upon  a  plan  which 
might  or  might  not  answer;  but  he  could  think  of  nothing  else. 

He  went  in  the  morning  and  secured  a  box  at  Covent  Garden 
for  that  evening.  Then  he  called  at  Lisle  Street,  and  got  Cala- 
bressa's  address.  He  found  Calabrcssa  in  his  lodgings,  shiver- 
ing and  miserable,  for  the  day  was  wet,  misty,  and  cold. 

"  You  can  escape  from  the  gloom  of  our  climate.  Signer  Cala- 
brcssa," said  he.  "  What  do  you  say  to  going  to  the  opera  to- 
night?" 

"  Your  opera  ?"  said  he,  with  a  gesture  indicative  of  still  deep- 
er despair.  "  You  forget  I  come  from  the  home,  the  nursery  of 
opera." 

"  Yes,"  said  Brand,  good-naturedly.  "  Great  singers  train  in 
your  country,  but  they  sing  here  :  that  is  the  difference.  Do  not 
be  afraid ;  you  will  not  be  disappointed.  See,  I  have  brought  you 
a  box ;  and  if  you  want  companions,  why  not  ask  Miss  Lind  and 
Madame  Potecki  to  go  with  you  and  show  you  the  ways  of  our 
English  opera-houses  ?" 

"Ah,  the  little  Natalushka!"  said  Calabressa,  eagerly.  "Will 
she  go?  Do  you  think  she  will  go?  Afafoi,  it  is  not  often  I 
have  the  chance  of  taking  such  a  beautiful  creature  to  the  opera, 
if  she  will  go  !     What  must  I  do  ?" 

"You  will  have  to  go  and  beg  ber  to  be  kind  to  you.  Say 
you  have  the  box — you  need  not  mention  how :  ask  if  she  will 
escort  you,  she  and  Madame  Potecki.  Say  it  is  a  kindness :  she 
cannot  help  doing  a  kindness." 

"There  you  are  right,  monsieur :  do  not  I  see  it  in  her  eyes? 
can  I  not  hear  it  in  her  voice?" 

"  Well,  that  you  must  do  at  once,  before  she  goes  out  for  her 
walk  at  noon." 

V* 


1 54  SUNRISE. 

"  To  go  out  walking  on  a  day  like  this  ?" 

"  She  will  go  out,  nevertheless  ;  and  you  must  go  and  inter- 
cept her,  and  pray  her  to  do  you  this  kindness." 

''Apresr 

"  You  must  come  to  me  again,  and  we  will  get  an  English 
evening  costume  for  you  somehow.  Then,  two  bouquets ;  I  will 
get  those  for  you,  and  send  them  to  the  box  to  await  you." 

"  But  you  yourself,  monsieur ;  will  you  not  be  of  the  party  ?" 

"  Perhaps  you  bad  better  say  nothing  about  me,  signore ;  for 
one  is  so  busy  nowadays.  But  if  I  come  into  the  stalls ;  if  I  see 
you  and  the  ladies  in  the  box,  then  I  shall  permit  myself  to  call 
upon  you  ;  do  you  understand  f ' 

"  Parfaitement,"  said  Calabressa,  gravely.  Then  he  laughed 
slightly.  "  Ah,  monsieur,  you  English  are  not  good  diplomatists. 
I  perceive  that  you  wish  to  say  more ;  that  you  are  afraid  to  say 
more ;  that  you  are  anxious  and  a  little  bit  demure,  like  a  girl. 
What  you  wish  is  this,  is  it  not :  if  I  say  to  Madame  Potecki, 
'  Madame,  I  am  a  stranger ;  will  you  show  me  the  promenade, 
that  I  may  behold  the  costumes  of  the  beautiful  English  ladies  ?' 
madame  answers,  '  Willingly.'  We  go  to  see  the  costumes  of 
the  beautiful  English  ladies.  Why  should  you  come?  You 
would  not  leave  the  young  lady  all  alone  in  the  box?" 

"  Calabressa,"  he  said,  frankly,  "  I  am  going  away  to-morrow 
morning :  do  you  understand  that  ?" 

Calabressa  bowed  gravely. 

"  To  comprehend  that  is  easy.  AUons,  let  us  play  out  the  lit- 
tle plot  for  the  amusement  of  that  rogue  of  a  Natalushka.  And 
if  she  does  not  thank  me — eh  bien  !  perhaps  her  papa  will :  who 
knows  ?" 

Before  the  overture  began  that  evening.  Brand  was  in  his  seat 
in  the  stalls ;  and  he  had  scarcely  sat  down  when  he  knew,  rather 
than  saw,  that  certain  figures  were  coming  into  the  box  which  he 
had  been  covertly  watching.  The  opera  was  Fidelio — that  beau- 
tiful story  of  a  wife's  devotion  and  courage  and  reward.  As  he 
sat  and  listened,  he  knew  she  was  listening  too ;  and  he  could 
almost  have  believed  it  was  her  own  voice  that  was  pleading  so 
eloquently  with  the  jailer  to  let  the  poor  prisoner  see  the  light  of 
day  for  a  few  minutes  in  the  garden.  AVould  not  that  have  been 
her  prayer,  too,  in  similar  circumstances  ?  Then  Leonora,  dis- 
guised as  a  youth,  is  forced  to  assist  in  the  digging  of  her  own 


FIDELIO.  155 

husband's  grave.  Pizarro  enters ;  the  unhappy  prisoners  are 
driven  back  to  their  cells  and  chains,  and  Leonora  can  only  call 
down  the  vengeance  of  Heaven  on  the  head  of  the  tyrant. 

At  the  end  of  the  act  Brand  went  up  to  the  box  and  tapped 
outside.  It  was  opened  from  within,  and  he  entered.  Natalie 
turned  to  receive  him  ;  she  was  a  little  pale,  he  thought ;  he  took 
a  seat  immediately  behind  her;  and  there  was  some  general  talk 
until  the  opening  of  the  second  act  restored  silence. 

For  him  it  was  a  strange  silence,  that  the  music  outside  did  not 
di?^turb.  Sitting  behind  her,  he  could  study  the  beautiful  profile 
and  the  outward  curve  of  her  dark  eyelashes ;  he  could  see  where 
here  and  there  a  delicate  curl  of  the  raven-black  hair,  escaping 
from  the  mob-cap  of  rose-red  silk,  lay  about  the  small  car  or  wan- 
dered down  to  the  shapely  white  neck;  he  could  almost,  despite 
the  music,  fancy  he  heard  her  breathe,  as  the  black  gossamer  and 
scarlet  flowers  of  an  Indian  shawl  stirred  over  the  shining  satin 
dress.     Her  fan  and  handkerchief  were  perfumed  with  white-rose. 

And  to-morrow  he  would  be  in  Wolverhampton,  amidst  grimy 
streets  and  dirty  houses,  in  a  leaden-hued  atmosphere  laden  with 
damp  and  the  fumes  of  chimneys,  practically  alone,  with  days  of 
monotonous  work  before  him,  and  solitary  evenings  to  be  spent 
in  cheerless  inns.  What  wonder  if  this  seemed  some  brief  vision 
of  paradise — the  golden  light  and  glowing  color,  the  soft  strains 
of  music,  the  scent  of  white-rose  ? 

Doubtless  Natalie  had  seen  this  opera  of  Fidelio  many  a  time 
before  ;  but  she  was  always  intently  interested  in  music ;  and  she 
had  more  than  once  expressed  in  Brand's  hearing  her  opinion  of 
the  conduct  of  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  make  an  opera,  or  a 
concert,  or  a  play  a  mere  adjunct  to  their  own  foolish  laughter 
and  tittle-tattle.  She  recognized  the  serious  aims  of  a  great  ar- 
tist ;  she  listened  with  deep  attention  and  respect ;  she  could 
talk  idly  elsewhere  and  at  other  times.  And  so  there  was  scarce- 
ly a  word  said — except  of  involuntary  admiration — as  the  opera 
proceeded.  But  in  the  scene  where  the  disguised  wife  discovers 
her  husband  in  the  prison — where,  as  Pizarro  is  about  to  stab 
him,  she  flings  herself  between  them  to  protect  him — Brand  could 
see  that  Natalie  Lind  was  fast  losing  her  manner  of  calm  and  crit- 
ical attention,  and  yielding  to  a  profounder  emotion.  When  Le- 
onora reveals  herself  to  her  husband,  and  swears  that  she  will  save 
him,  even  at  such  a  juncture,  from  his  vindictive  enemy — 


156  SUNRISE. 

"  Si,  si,  mio  dolce  amico, 
La  tua  Eleonora  ti  salveri ; 
Affronto  il  suo  furor !" 

the  girl  gave  a  slight  convulsive  sob,  and  her  hands  were  invol- 
untarily clasped.  Then,  as  every  one  knows,  Leonora  draws  a 
pistol  from  her  bosom  and  confronts  the  tyrant ;  a  trumpet  is 
lieard  in  the  distance;  relief  is  near;  and  the  act  winds  up  with 
the  joyful  duet  between  the  released  liusband  and  the  courageous 
wife — "Destin,  destin  ormai  felice  .'" 

Here  it  was  that  Calabressa  proposed  he  should  escort  Madame 
Potecki  to  the  cooler  air  of  the  large  saloon ;  and  madame,  who 
had  been  young  herself,  and  guessed  that  the  lovers  might  like 
to  be  alone  for  a  few  minutes,  instantly  and  graciously  acqui- 
esced. But  Natalie  rose  also,  a  little  quickly,  and  said  that 
Madame  Potecki  and  herself  would  be  glad  to  have  some  coffee ; 
and  could  that  be  got  in  the  saloon  ? 

Madame  Potecki  and  her  companion  led  the  way ;  but  then 
Brand  put  his  hand  on  the  arm  of  Natalie  and  detained  her. 

"  Natalie !"  he  said,  in  a  low  and  hurried  voice,  "  I  am  going 
away  to-morrow.  I  don't  know  when  I  shall  see  you  again. 
Surely  you  will  give  me  some  assurance  —  some  promise;  some- 
thing I  can  repeat  to  myself.  Natalie,  I  know  the  value  of  what 
I  am  asking  ;  you  will  give  yourself  to  me?" 

She  stood  by  the  half-shut  door,  pale,  irresolute,  and  yet  out- 
wardly calm.  Her  eyes  were  cast  down  ;  she  held  her  fan  firmly 
with  both  hands. 

"Natalie,  are  you  afraid  to  answer?" 

Then  the  young  Hungarian  girl  raised  her  eyes,  and  bravely 
regarded  him,  though  her  face  was  still  pale  and  apprehensive. 

"  No,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  But  how  can  I  answer  you 
more  than  this — that  if  I  am  not  to  give  myself  to  you  I  will 
give  myself  to  no  other?  I  will  be  your  wife,  or  the  wife  of  no 
one.     Dear  friend,  I  can  say  no  more." 

"  It  is  enough." 

She  went  quickly  to  the  front  of  the  box  ;  in  both  bouquets 
there  were  forget-me-nots.  She  hurriedly  selected  some,  and  re- 
turned and  gave  them  to  him. 

"  Whatever  happens,  you  will  remember  that  there  was  one 
who  at  least  wished  to  be  worthy  of  your  love." 

Then  they  followed  their  friends  into  the  saloon,  and  sat  down 


FATHER    AND    DAUGIITEft.  lo7 

at  a  small  table,  though  Natalie's  hands  were  trembling  so  that- 
she  could  scarcely  undo  her  gloves.  And  George  Brand  said 
nothing ;  but  once  or  twice  he  looked  into  his  wife's  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXT. 

FATHER    AND    DAUGHTER. 


When  Ferdinand  Lind  told  Calabressa  that  Natalie  had  grown 
to  be  a  woman,  he  no  doubt  meant  what  he  said ;  but  he  himself 
had  not  the  least  notion  what  the  phrase  implied.  He  could  see, 
of  course,  that  she  had  now  a  woman's  years,  stature,  self-posses- 
sion ;  but,  for  all  that,  she  was  still  to  him  only  a  child — only  the 
dark-eyed,  gentle,  obedient  little  Natalushka,  who  used  to  be  so 
proud  when  she  was  praised  for  her  music, and  whose  only  show 
of  resolution  was  when  she  set  to  work  on  the  grammar  of  a  new 
lanfruatife.  Indeed,  it  is  the  commonest  thing  in  the  ^vorld  for  a 
son,  or  a  daughter,  or  a  friend  to  grow  in  years  without  those 
nearest  them  being  aware  of  the  fact,  until  some  chance  circum- 
stance, some  crisis,  causes  a  revelation,  and  we  are  astounded  at 
the  change  that  time  has  insidiously  made. 

Such  a  discovery  was  now  about  to  confront  Ferdinand  Lind. 
He  was  to  learn  not  onlv  that  his  daughter  had  left  the  days  of 
her  childhood  behind  her,  but  also  that  the  womanhood  to  which 
she  had  attained  was  of  a  fine  and  firm  character,  a  womanhood 
that  rung  true  when  tried.  And  this  is  how  the  discovery  was 
forced  on  him  : 

On  his  arrival  in  London,  Mr.  Lind  drove  first  to  Lisle  Street, 
to  pick  up  letters  on  his  way  home.  Beratinsky  was  in  the 
place.  Beratinsky  had  little  news  about  business  matters  to  im- 
part ;  but,  instead,  he  began — as  Lind  was  looking  at  some  of  the 
envelopes — to  drop  hints  about  Brand.  It  was  easy  to  see  now, 
he  said,  why  the  rich  Englishman  was  so  eager  to  join  them,  and 
give  up  his  life  in  that  way.  It  was  not  for  nothing.  Mr.  Lind 
would  doubtless  hear  more  at  home ;  and  so  forth. 

Mr.  Lind  Avas  thinking  of  other  things ;  but  when  he  came  to 
understand  what  these  innuendoes  meant,  he  was  neither  angry 
nor  impatient.  He  had  much  toleration  for  human  weakness, 
and  he  took  it  that  Beratinsky  was  only  a  little  off  his  head  with 


158  SUNRISE. 

jealousy.  He  was  aware  that  it  Lad  been  Beratinsky's  ambition 
to  become  his  sou-in-law  :  a  project  that  swiftly  came  to  an  end 
through  the  perfect  unanimity  of  father  and  daughter  on  that 
point. 

"  You  are  a  fool,  Beratinsky,"  he  said,  as  he  tied  the  bundle 
of  letters  together.  "  At  your  time  of  life  you  should  not  imag- 
ine that  every  one's  head  is  full  of  philandering  nonsense.  Mr. 
Brand  has  something  else  to  think  of ;  besides,  he  has  been  in 
the  midland  counties  all  this  time."" 

"  Has  he  ?  Who,  then,  was  taking  your  daughter  to  dinner- 
parties, to  theatres — I  don't  know  what  ?" 

Lind  dealt  gently  with  this  madness. 

"  AYho  told  you  ?" 

"  I  have  eyes  and  ears," 

"  Put  them  to  a  better  use,  Beratinsky." 

Then  he  left,  and  the  hansom  carried  him  along  to  Curzon 
Street.  Natalie  herself  flew  to  the  door  when  she  heard  the  cab 
drive  up :  there  she  was  to  receive  him,  smiling  a  welcome,  and 
so  like  her  mother  that  he  was  almost  startled.  She  cauo;ht  his 
face  in  her  two  hands  and  kissed  him. 

"Ah,  papa,  why  did  you  not  let  me  come  to  meet  you  at  Liv- 
erpool ?" 

"  There  were  too  many  with  me,  Natalie.  I  was  busy.  Now 
get  Anneli  to  open  my  portmanteau,  and  you  can  find  out  for 
yourself  all  the  things  I  have  brought  for  you." 

"  I  do  not  care  for  them,  papa ;  I  like  to  have  you  yourself 
back." 

"  I  suppose  you  were  rather  dull,  Natalushka,  being  all  by 
yourself  ?" 

"  Sometimes.  But  I  will  tell  you  all  that  has  happened  when 
you  are  having  breakfast." 

"  I  have  had  breakfast,  child.  Now  I  shall  get  through  my 
letters,  and  you  can  tell  me  all  that  has  happened  afterward." 

This  was  equivalent  to  a  dismissal ;  so  Natalie  went  up-stairs, 
leaving  her  father  to  go  into  the  small  study,  where  lay  another 
bundle  of  letters  for  him. 

Almost  the  first  that  he  opened  was  from  George  Brand ;  and 
to  his  amazement  he  found,  not  details  about  progress  in  the 
North,  but  a  simple,  straightforward,  respectful  demand  to  be  per- 
mitted to  claim  the  hand  of  Natalie  in  marriage.     He  did  not 


FATHER    AND    DAUGHTER.  159 

conceal  tlic  fact  that  this  proposal  had  already  been  made  to 
Natalie  herself;  he  ventured  to  hope  that  it  was  not  distasteful 
to  her ;  he  would  also  hope  that  her  father  had  no  objections  to 
urge.  It  was  surely  better  that  the  future  of  a  young  girl  in  her 
position  should  be  provided  for.  As  regarded  himself,  Mr.  Lind's 
acquaintance  with  hiui  was  no  doubt  but  recent  and  comparative- 
ly slight;  but  if  he  wished  any  further  and  natural  inquiry  into 
the  character  of  the  man  to  whom  he  was  asked  to  intrust  his 
daughter,  Lord  Evelyn  might  be  consulted  as  his  closest  friend. 
And  a  speedy  answer  was  requested. 

This  letter  was,  on  the  whole,  rather  a  calm  and  business-like 
performance.  Brand  could  appeal  to  Xatalie,  and  that  earnestly 
and  honestly  enough  ;  he  felt  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  make 
any  such  appeal  to  her  father.  Indeed,  any  third  person  reading 
this  letter  would  have  taken  it  to  be  more  of  the  nature  of  a 
formal  demand,  or  something  required  by  the  conventionalities; 
a  request  the  answer  to  which  was  not  of  tremendous  importance, 
seeing  that  the  two  persons  most  interested  had  already  come  to 
an  understanding. 

But  Mr.  Lind  did  not  look  at  it  in  that  light  at  all.  He  was 
at  first  surprised;  then  vexed  and  impatient,  rather  than  angry; 
then  determined  to  put  an  end  to  this  nonsense  at  once.  If  he 
had  deemed  the  matter  more  serious,  he  would  have  sat  down  and 
considered  it  with  his  customary  forethought ;  but  he  was  mere- 
ly irritated. 

"  Beratinsky  was  not  so  mad  as  I  took  him  to  be,  after  all," 
he  said  to  himself.  "  Fortunately,  the  affair  has  not  gone  too 
far." 

He  carried  the  open  letter  up-stairs,  and  found  Natalie  in  the 
drawing-room,  dusting  some  pieces  of  Venetian  glass. 

"  Natalie,"  he  said,  with  an  abruptness  that  startled  her,  and 
in  a  tone  of  anger  which  was  just  a  little  bit  affected — "Natalie, 
what  is  the  meaning  of  this  folly  T' 

She  turned  and  regarded  him.  He  held  the  open  letter  in  his 
hand.     She  said,  calmly, 

"  I  do  not  understand  you." 

This  only  vexed  him  the  more. 

"I  ask  you  what  you  have  been  doing  in  my  absence?"  he 
said,  angrily.  "  What  have  you  been  doing  to  entitle  any  man 
to  write  me  such  a  letter  as  this  ?     His  affection  !  your  future  ! — 


160  SUNRISE. 

has  he  not  something  else  to  think  of?  And  you — you  seem  not 
to  have  been  quite  so  dull  when  I  was  away,  after  all  I  Well,  it 
is  time  to  have  an  end  of  it.  Whatever  nonsense  may  have  been 
going  on,  I  hope  you  have  both  of  you  come  to  your  senses. 
Let  me  hear  no  more  of  it !" 

Xow  she  saw  clearly  what  the  letter  must  contain — what  had 
stirred  her  father  to  such  an  unusual  exhibition  of  wrath.  She 
was  a  little  pale,  but  not  afraid.  There  was  no  tremor  in  her 
voice  as  she  spoke. 

"I  am  sorry,  papa,  you  should  speak  to  me  like  that.  I  think 
you  forget  that  I  am  no  longer  a  child.  I  have  done  nothing 
that  I  am  ashamed  of ;  and  if  Mr.  Brand  has  written  to  you,  I 
am  willing  to  share  the  responsibility  of  anything  he  says.  You 
must  remember,  papa,  that  I  am  a  woman,  and  that  1  ought  to 
have  a  voice  in  anything  that  concerns  my  own  happiness." 

He  looked  at  her  almost  with  wonder,  as  if  he  did  not  quite  rec- 
ognize her.  Was  this  the  gentle-natured  little  Natalushka,  whose 
eyes  would  fill  with  tears  if  she  was  scolded  even  in  fun  ? — this 
tall,  self-possessed  girl  with  the  pale  face,  and  the  firm  and  even 
tones  ? 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Natalie,  that  it  is  with  your  consent 
Brand  has  written  to  me  ?"  her  father  asked,  with  frowning 
brows. 

"  I  did  not  know  he  would  write.     I  expected  he  would." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  he,  with  an  ironical  smile,  "  perhaps  you  have 
taken  time  by  the  forelock,  and  already  promised  to  be  his  wife?" 

The  answer  was  given  with  the  same  proud  composure. 

"  I  have  not.  But  I  have  promised,  if  I  am  not  his  wife,  never 
to  be  the  w'ife  of  any  other  man." 

It  was  now  that  Lind  began  to  perceive  how  serious  this  mat- 
ter was.  This  w^as  no  school-girl,  to  be  frightened  out  of  a  pass- 
ing fancy.  He  must  appeal  to  the  reason  of  a  woman  ;  and  the 
truth  is,  that  if  he  had  known  he  had  this  to  undertake,  he  would 
not  so  hastily  have  gone  into  that  drawing-room  with  the  open 
letter  in  his  hand. 

"  Sit  down,  Natalie,"  he  said,  quite  gently.  "  I  want  to  talk 
to  you.  I  spoke  hastily;  I  was  surprised  and  angry.  Now  let 
us  see  calmly  how  matters  stand ;  I  dare  say  no  great  harm  has 
been  done  yet." 

She  took  a  seat  opposite  him  ;  there  was  not  the  least  sign  of 


FATIIEFl    ANU    DAUOIITER.  IGl 

any  girlish  breaking  down,  even  wlion  he  spoke  to  her  in  tliis 
kind  way. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  acted  quite  rightly  and  prudently  when 
I  was  away  ;  and  as  for  Mr.  Brand,  well,  any  one  can  see  that  you 
have  grown  to  be  a  good-looking  young  woman,  and  of  course  he 
would  like  to  have  a  good-looking  young  wife  to  show  oflf  among 
the  country  people,  and  to  go  riding  to  hounds  with  him.  Let 
us  see  what  is  involved  in  your  becoming  his  wife,  supposing 
that  were  ever  seriously  to  be  thought  of.  You  give  up  all  your 
old  sympathies  and  friends,  your  interest  in  the  work  we  liave  on 
hand,  and  you  get  transferred  to  a  Buckinghamshire  country- 
house  to  take  the  place  of  the  old  house-keeper.  If  you  do  not 
hear  anything  of  what  is  going  on — of  our  struggles — of  your 
friends  all  over  Europe — what  of  that?  You  will  have  the  kitch- 
en-garden to  look  after,  and  poultry  to  feed  ;  and  your  neighbors 
will  talk  to  you  at  dinner  about  foxes  and  dogs  and  horses  and 
the  clergyman's  charities.  It  will  be  a  healthy  life,  Natalie;  per- 
haps you  will  get  stout  and  rosy,  like  an  English  matron.  But 
your  old  friends — you  will  have  forgotten  them." 

"Never! — never  !"  she  said,  vehemently  ;  and,  despite  herself, 
her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"Then  we  will  take  Mr.  Brand.  The  Buckinghamshire  liouse 
is  open  again.  An  Englishman's  house  is  liis  castle ;  there  is  a 
great  deal  of  work  in  superintending  it,  its  entertainments,  its  de- 
pendents. Perhaps  he  has  a  pack  of  fox-hounds ;  no  doubt  he  is 
a  justice  of  the  peace,  and  the  terror  of  poacliers.  But  in  the 
midst  of  all  this  hunting,  and  giving  of  dinner-parties,  and  shoot- 
ing of  pheasants,  do  you  think  he  has  much  time  or  thought  for 
the  future  of  the  millions  of  poor  wretches  all  over  Europe  who 
once  claimed  liis  care  ?  Not  much  !  That  was  in  his  days  of  ir- 
responsible bachelorhood.  Now  he  is  settled  down  —  he  is  a 
country  gentleman.  The  world  can  set  itself  right  without  him. 
He  is  anxious  about  the  price  of  wheat." 

"Ah,  how  you  mistake  him,  papa!"  said  she,  proudly.  And 
there  was  a  proud  light  on  her  face  too  as  she  rose  and  quickly 
went  to  a  small  escritoire  close  by.  A  few  seconds  sufficed  her 
to  write  a  short  note,  wliich  she  brought  back  to  her  father." 

"There,"  said  she,  "I  will  abide  by  that  test.  If  he  says 
*  yes,'  I  w  ill  never  see  him  again — never  speak  one  word  to  him 
again." 


162  SUNRISE. 

Her  father  took  the  note  and  read  it.     It  was  as  follows: 

"  My  dear  Friexd, — I  am  anxious  about  the  future  for  both 
of  us.  If  you  will  promise  me,  now  and  at  once,  to  give  up  the 
■ivork  you  are  engaged  in,  I  will  be  your  wife,  when  and  where 
you  will.  Natalie." 

"  Scud  it !"  she  said,  proudly.  "  I  am  not  afraid.  If  he  says 
'yes,'  I  will  never  see  him  again." 

The  challenge  was  not  accepted.  He  tore  the  note  in  two  and 
flung  it  into  the  grate. 

"  It  is  time  to  put  an  end  to  this  folly,"  he  said,  impatiently. 
"  I  have  shown  you  what  persistence  in  it  would  bring  on  your- 
self. You  would  be  estranged  from  everything  and  every  one 
you  have  hitherto  been  interested  in ;  you  would  have  to  begin 
a  new  life,  for  which  you  are  not  fitted ;  you  would  be  the  means 
of  doing  our  cause  an  irreparable  injury.  Yes,  I  say  so  frankly. 
The  withdrawal  of  this  man  Brand,  which  would  certainly  fol- 
low, sooner  or  later,  on  his  marriage,  would  be  a  great  blow  to  us. 
AVe  have  need  of  his  work ;  we  have  still  more  need  of  his  mon- 
ey. And  it  is  you,  you  of  all  people  in  the  world,  who  would  be 
the  means  of  taking  him  away  from  us!" 

"  But  it  is  not  so,  papa,"  she  said,  in  great  distress.  "  Surely 
you  do  not  think  that  I  am  begging  to  be  allowed  to  become  his 
wife  ?  That  is  for  him  to  decide ;  I  will  follow  his  wishes  as  far 
as  I  can — as  far  as  you  will  allow  me,  papa.  But  this  I  know^,  that, 
so  far  from  that  interfering  with  the  work  he  has  undertaken,  it 
would  only  spur  him  on.  Should  I  have  thought  of  it  other- 
wise ?  Ah,  surely  you  know — you  have  said  so  to  me  yourself — 
he  is  not  one  to  go  back." 

"  He  is  an  Englishman ;  you  do  not  understand  Englishmen," 
her  father  said ;  and  then  he  added,  firmly,  "  You  are  not  to  be 
deterred  by  what  may  happen  to  yourself.  Well,  consider  what 
may  happen  to  him.  I  tell  you  I  will  not  have  this  risk  run. 
George  Brand  is  too  valuable  to  us.  If  you  or  he  persist  in  this 
folly,  it  will  be  necessary  to  provide  against  all  contingencies  by 
procuring  his  banishment." 

"Banishment!"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  quick  and  frightened 
look. 

"  That  may  not  sound  much  to  you,"  said  her  father,  calmly, 


FATHER    AND    DALOIITEK.  1G3 

"  for  you  have  scarcely  what  may  be  called  a  native  country. 
You  have  lived  anywhere,  everywhere.  It  is  difFerciit  with  an 
Enirlishman,  who  has  his  birthplace,  his  family  estate,  his  friends 
in  Kii!j,laii<l." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  papa?"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice.  She  had 
not  been  frightened  by  the  fancy  picture  he  had  drawn  of  her 
own  future,  hut  this  ominous  threat  about  her  lover  seemed  full 
of  menace. 

"  I  say  that,  at  all  hazards,"  Lind  continued,  looking  at  her 
from  under  the  bushy  eyebrows,  "this  folly  must  be  brought  to 
an  end.  It  is  not  expedient  that  a  marriage  between  you  and 
Mr.  Brand  should  even  be  thought  of.  You  have  both  got  otlier 
duties,  inexorable  duties.  It  is  my  business  to  see  that  nothing 
comes  in  the  way  of  their  fulfilment.     Do  you  understand?" 

She  sat  dumb  now,  with  a  vague  fear  about  the  future  of  her 
lover ;  for  herself  she  had  no  fear, 

"Some  one  must  be  sent  to  Philadelphia,  to  remain  there 
probably  for  his  lifetime.  Do  not  drive  me  to  send  George 
Brand." 

"Papa!"  It  was  a  cry  of  appeal ;  but  he  paid  no  heed.  This 
matter  he  was  determined  to  settle  at  once. 

"Understand,  this  idle  notion  must  be  dropped;  otherwise 
George  Brand  goes  to  the  States  forthwith,  and  remains  there. 
Fortunately,  I  don't  suppose  the  matter  has  gone  far  enough 
to  cause  either  of  you  any  deep  misery.  This  is  not  what  one 
would  call  a  madly  impassioned  letter." 

She  scarcely  perceived  the  sneer ;  some  great  calamity  had  be- 
fallen her,  of  which  she  as  yet  scarcely  knew  the  extent ;  she  sat 
mute  and  bewildered — too  bewildered  to  ask  why  all  this  thing 
should  be. 

"  That  may  not  seem  much  to  you,"  he  said,  in  the  same  cold, 
implacable  way.  "  But  banishment  for  life  from  his  native  coun- 
try, his  home,  his  friends,  is  something  to  an  Englishman.  And 
if  we  are  likely  to  lose  his  work  in  this  country  through  a  piece 
of  sentimental  folly,  we  shall  take  care  not  to  lose  it  in  America." 

She  rose. 

"Is  that  all,  papa?" 

She  seemed  too  stunned  to  say  any  more. 

lie  rose  also,  and  took  her  hand. 

"It  is  better  to  have  a  clear  understanding,  Natalie.     Some 


164  SUNRISE. 

miglit  say  tbat  I  object  to  your  marrying  because  you  are  a  help 
to  me,  and  your  going  away  would  leave  tbc  house  empty.  Per- 
haps you  may  have  some  kind  friend  put  that  notion  into  your 
head.  But  that  is  not  the  reason  why  I  speak  firmly  to  you, 
why  I  show  you  you  must  dismiss  this  fancy  of  the  moment — if 
you  have  entertained  it  as  well  as  he — as  impossible.  I  have 
larger  interests  at  stake ;  I  am  bound  to  sacrifice  every  personal 
feeling  to  my  duty.  And  I  have  shown  you  what  would  be  the 
certain  result  of  such  a  marriage ;  therefore,  I  say,  such  a  mar- 
riage is  not  to  be  thought  of.  Come,  now,  Natalie,  you  claim  to 
be  a  woman :  be  a  woman  !  Something  higher  is  wanted  from 
you.  What  would  all  our  friends  think  of  you  if  you  were  to 
sink  into  a  position  like  that  —  the  house-keeper  of  a  country 
squire  ?" 

She  said  nothing;  but  she  went  away  to  her  own  room  and  sat 
down,  her  face  pale,  her  heart  like  lead.  And  all  her  thought 
was  of  this  possible  doom  hanging  over  him  if  he  persisted ;  and 
she  guessed,  knowing  something  of  him,  whether  he  was  likely  to 
be  dissuaded  by  a  threat. 

Then,  for  a  second  or  so,  a  wild,  despairing  fancy  crossed  her 
mind,  and  her  fingers  tightened,  and  the  proud  mouth  grew  firm. 
If  it  was  through  her  that  this  penalty  of  banishment  overtook 
him,  whv  should  she  not  do  as  others  had  done  ? 

But  no — that  was  impossible.  She  had  not  the  courage  to 
make  such  an  offer.  She  could  only  sit  and  think ;  and  the  pict- 
ure before  her  imagination  was  that  of  her  lover  sailing  away 
from  his  native  land.  She  saw  the  ship  getting  farther  and  far- 
ther away  from  English  shores,  until  it  disappeared  altogether  in 
a  mist  of  rain — and  tears. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

EVASIONS. 


It  was  in  Manchester,  whither  he  had  gone  to  meet  the  famous 
John  Molyneux,  that  George  Brand  awoke  on  this  dull  and  driz- 
zly morning.  The  hotel  was  almost  full.  He  had  been  sent  to 
the  top  floor ;  and  now  the  outlook  from  the  window  was  dis- 
mal enough — some  slated  roofs,  a  red  chimney  or  two,  and  far- 


EVASIONS.  105 

ther  off  the  liij^lier  floors  of  a  lofty  warehouse,  in  wliich  the  first 
sifjiis  of  life  were  bcconiini!;  visible.  Early  as  it  was,  there  was  a 
dull  roar  of  tralHc  in  the  distance ;  occasionally  there  was  the 
scream  of  a  railway  whistle. 

Neither  the  morning  nor  the  prospect  was  conducive  to  a 
cheerful  view  of  life;  and  perhaps  that  was  why,  when  he  took 
in  his  boots  and  found  in  one  of  them  a  letter,  deposited  there 
by  the  chamber-maid,  which  he  at  once  saw  was  in  Ferdinand 
Lind's  handwriting,  that  he  instantly  assumed,  mentally,  an  atti- 
tude of  defiance.  He  did  not  open  the  letter  just  then.  He 
took  time  to  let  his  opposition  harden.  He  knew  there  would 
be  something  or  somebody  to  fight.  It  was  too  much  to  expect 
that  everything  should  go  smoothly.  If  there  was  such  a  thing 
as  a  law  of  compensation,  that  beautiful  dream-like  evening  at 
the  opera — the  light,  the  color,  the  softened  music ;  the  scent  of 
white-rose;  the  dark,  soft  eyes,  and  the  last  pressure  of  the  hand; 
the  forget-me-nots  he  carried  away  with  him  —  would  have  to 
be  paid  for  somehow.  And  he  had  always  distrusted  Ferdinand 
Lind.  His  instinct  assured  him  that  this  letter,  which  he  had 
been  looking  for  and  yet  dreading,  contained  a  distinct  refusal. 

His  instinct  was  completely  at  fault.  The  letter  was  exceed- 
ino'lv  kind  and  suave.  Mr.  Lind  miiiht  trv  to  arouse  his  daugh- 
ter  from  this  idle  day-dream  by  sharp  words  and  an  ominous 
threat;  he  knew  that  it  was  otherwise  he  must  deal  with  Mr. 
George  Brand. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Brand,"  he  wrote,  "  as  you  may  imagine,  your 
letter  has  surprised  me  not  a  little,  and  pleased  me  too ;  for  a  fa- 
ther naturally  is  proud  to  see  his  daughter  thought  well  of ;  and 
your  proposal  is  very  flattering ;  especially,  I  may  add,  as  you 
have  seen  so  little  of  Natalie.  You  are  very  kind — and  bold,  and 
unlike  English  nature — to  take  her  and  her  family  on  trust,  as  it 
were ;  for  are  not  your  countrymen  very  particular  as  to  the  rel- 
atives of  those  they  would  marry  with?  and  of  Natalie's  relatives 
and  friends  how  many  have  you  seen  ?  Elxcuse  me  if  I  do  not 
(piite  explain  myself;  for  writing  in  English  is  not  as  familiar  to 
me  as  to  Natalie,  who  is  quite  an  Englishwoman  now.  Very 
well ;  I  think  it  is  kind  of  you  to  think  so  highly  of  my  daugh- 
ter as  to  offer  her  to  make  her  your  wife,  you  knowing  so  little 
of  her.     But  there  you  do  not  mistake;  she  is  worthy  to  be  the 


166  SUNRISE. 

wife  of  any  one.     If  slic  ever  marries,  I  hope  she  will  be  as  good 
a  wife  as  she  has  been  a  daughter." 

"  If  she  ever  marries !''  This  phrase  sounded  somewhat  omi- 
nous ;  and  yet,  if  he  meant  to  say  "No,"  why  not  say  it  at  once? 
Brand  hastily  glanced  os'cr  the  letter,  to  find  something  definite ; 
but  he  found  that  would  not  do.  He  began  aa'ain,  and  read  with 
deliberation.     The  letter  had  obviously  been  written  with  care. 

"  I  have  also  to  thank  you,  besides,  for  the  very  flattering  pro- 
posal, for  your  care  to  put  this  matter  before  me  at  an  early  time. 
Regarding  how  little  Natalie  and  you  have  seen  each  other,  it  is 
impossible  that  either  her  or  your  affection  can  be  so  serious  that 
it  is  not  fair  to  look  on  your  proposal  with  some  views  as  to 
expediency ;  and  at  an  early  time  one  can  easily  control  one's 
wishes.  I  can  answer  for  my  daughter  that  she  has  always  acted 
as  I  thought  best  for  her  happiness ;  and  I  am  sure  that  now,  or 
at  any  time,  in  whatever  emergenc}',  she  would  far  prefer  to  have 
the  decision  rest  with  me,  rather  than  take  the  responsibility  on 
herself." 

When  George  Brand  came  to  this  passage  he  read  it  over 
again  ;  and  his  comment  was,  "  My  good  friend,  don't  be  too  sure 
of  that.  It  is  possible  that  you  have  lived  nineteen  years  wdth 
your  daughter  to  very  little  purpose,  so  far  as  your  knowledge  of 
her  character  is  concerned." 

"  Well,  then,  my  dear  sir,"  the  letter  proceeded,  "  all  this  being 
in  such  a  way,  might  I  ask  you  to  reflect  again  over  your  pro- 
posal, and  examine  it  from  the  view  of  expediency?  You  and 
I  are  not  free  agents,  just  to  please  ourselves  when  we  like.  Per- 
haps I  was  wrong  in  my  first  objection  to  your  very  flattering 
proposal ;  I  believed  you  might,  in  marrying  her,  withdraw  from 
the  work  we  are  all  engaged  in ;  I  feared  this  as  a  great  calam- 
ity— an  injury  done  to  many  to  gratify  the  fancy  of  one.  But 
Natalie,  I  will  confess,  scorned  me  for  that  doubt ;  and,  indeed, 
was  so  foolish  as  to  propose  a  little  hoax,  to  prove  to  me  that, 
even  if  she  promised  to  marry  you  as  a  reward,  she  could  not  get 
you  to  abandon  our  cause.  *  No,  no,'  she  said  ;  '  that  is  not  to 
be  feared.     He  is  not  one  to  go  back.'  " 

Wlien  George  Brand  read  these  words  his  breath  came  and 
went  a  little  quickly.  She  should  not  find  her  faith  in  him  mis- 
placed. 

"That  is  very  well,  very  satisfactory,  I  said  to  her.     We  cannot 


EVASIONS.  167 

afford  to  lose  you,  whatever  liappcns.  To  return  ;  there  are  more 
questions  of  expediency.  For  example,  how  can  one  tell  what 
may  be  demanded  of  one  ?  Would  it  be  wise  for  you  to  be  ham- 
pered with  a  wife  when  you  know  not  where  you  may  have  to 
go  ?  Again,  would  not  the  cares  of  a  household  seriously  interfere 
with  your  true  devotion  to  your  labors?  You  arc  so  happily 
placed  !  You  are  free  from  responsibilities  :  why  increase  them  ? 
At  present  Natalie  is  in  a  natural  and  comfortable  position  ;  she 
has  grown  accustomed  to  it ;  she  is  proud  to  know  that  she  can 
be  of  assistance  to  us;  her  life  is  not  an  unhappy  one.  But  con- 
sider— a  young  wife,  separated  from  her  husband  perhaps  by  the 
Atlantic  ;  in  a  new  home,  with  new  duties ;  anxious,  terrified  with 
apprehensions :  surely  that  is  not  the  change  you  would  wish  to 
see  ?" 

For  a  second  Brand  was  almost  frightened  by  this  picture,  and 
a  pang  of  remorse  tlashed  through  his  heart.  But  then  his  com- 
mon-sense reasserted  itself.  "Why  the  Atlantic?  ^Vhy  should 
they  be  separated?  "Why  should  she  be  terrified  with  apprehen- 
sions? 

"As  regards  her  future,"  her  father  continued,  "I  am  not  an 
old  man  ;  and  if  anything  were  to  happen  to  me,  she  has  friends. 
Nor  will  I  say  to  you  a  word  about  myself,  or  n)y  claim  on  her 
society  and  help  ;  for  parents  have  not  the  right  to  sacrifice  the 
happiness  of  their  children  to  their  own  convenience  ;  it  is  so 
fortunate  when  they  find,  however,  that  there  is  no  disposition  on 
the  part  of  the  young  to  break  those  ties  that  have  been  formed 
by  the  companionship  of  many  years.  It  is  this,  my  dear  friend 
and  colleague,  that  makes  me  thank  you  for  having  spoken  so 
early  ;  that  I  can  ask  you  to  reconsider,  and  that  I  can  advise  my 
daughter,  without  the  fear  that  I  am  acting  in  a  tyrannical  man- 
ner or  thwarting  any  serious  affection  on  her  part.  You  will  per- 
ceive I  do  not  dictate.  I  ask  you  to  think  over  whether  it  is  wise 
for  your  own  happiness  —  whether  it  would  improve  Natalie's 
probabilities  of  happiness — whether  it  would  interfere  in  some 
measure  with  the  work  you  have  undertaken — if  you  continue  to 
cherish  this  fancy,  and  let  it  grow  on  you.  Surely  it  is  better 
for  a  man  to  have  but  one  purpose  in  life.  Nevertheless,  I  am 
open  to  conviction. 

"That  reminds  me  that  there  is  another  matter  on  which  I 
should  like  to  say  a  few  w^ords  to  you  wlien  there  is  the  chance. 


168  SUNRISE. 

If  there  is  a  break  in  the  current  of  your  present  negotiations, 
shall  you  have  time  to  run  up  to  London?  Only  this:  you  will, 
I  trust,  not  seek  to  see  Natalie,  or  to  write  to  her,  until  we  have 
come  to  an  understanding.  Again  I  thank  you  for  having  spo- 
ken to  me  so  early,  before  any  mischief  can  have  been  done. 
Think  over  what  I  have  said,  my  dear  friend ;  and  remember, 
above  all  things,  where  your  chief  duty  lies. 

"  Yours  sincerely,  Ferdinand  Lind." 

He  read  this  letter  over  two  or  three  times,  and  the  more  he 
read  it  the  more  he  was  impressed  with  the  vexatious  conviction 
that  it  would  be  an  uncommonly  difficult  thing  to  answer  it.  It 
was  so  reasonable,  so  sensible,  so  plausible.  Then  his  old  suspi- 
cions returned.  AVhy  was  this  man  Lind  so  plausible  ?  If  he 
objected,  why  did  he  not  say  so  outright  ?  All  these  specious  ar- 
guments :  how  was  one  to  turn  and  twist,  evading  some,  meeting 
others ;  and  all  the  time  taking  it  for  granted  that  the  happiness 
of  two  people's  lives  was  to  be  dependent  on  such  logic-chopping 
as  could  be  put  down  on  a  sheet  of  paper  ? 

Then  he  grew  impatient.  He  would  not  answer  the  letter  at 
all.  Lind  did  not  understand.  The  matter  had  got  far  ahead  of 
this  clever  argumentation;  he  would  appeal  to  Natalie  herself; 
it  was  her  "  Yes  "  or  "  No  "  that  would  be  final ;  not  any  contest 
and  balancing  of  words.  There  were  other  words'  he  could  recall, 
of  more  importance  to  him.  He  could  almost  hear  them  now,  in 
the  trembling,  low  voice :  "/  loill  be  your  wife,  or  the  wife  of  no 
one.  Dear  friend,  I  can  say  no  more.''''  And  again,  when  she 
gave  him  the  forget-me-nots,  "  IFAaieiigr  happens,  you  will  re- 
member that  there  was  one  who  at  least  wished  to  be  worthy  of 
your  lover  He  could  remember  the  proud,  brave  look ;  again  he 
felt  the  trembling  of  the  hand  that  timidly  sought  his  for  an  in- 
stant ;  he  could  almost  scent  the  white-rose  again,  and  hear  the 
murmur  of  the  people  in  the  corridor.  And  this  was  the  woman, 
into  whose  eyes  he  had  looked  as  if  they  were  the  eyes  of  his 
wife,  who  was  to  be  taken  away  from  him  by  means  of  a  couple 
of  sheets  of  note-paper  all  covered  over  with  little  specious  sug- 
gestions. 

He  thrust  the  letter  into  a  pocket,  and  hurriedly  proceeded 
with  his  dressing,  for  he  had  a  breakfast  appointment.  Indeed, 
before  he  was  ready,  the  porter  came  up  and  said  that  a  gentle- 


EVASIONS.  IGO 

Tiian  had  called  for  Iilin,  and  was  waitiri!^  for  liim  in  tlie  coffee- 
room. 

"Ask  liim  what  lie  will  have  for  breakfast,  and  let  liiin  go  on. 
I  sliall  be  down  presently." 

When  Brand  did  at  length  go  down,  lie  found  that  his  visitor 
had  frankly  accepted  this  permission,  and  had  before  him  a  large 
plate  of  corned-beef,  with  a  goodly  tankard  of  beer.  Mr.  J<jh:: 
Molyneux,  although  he  was  a  great  authority  among  English  work- 
men generally,  and  especially  among  the  trades-unionists  of  the 
North,  had  little  about  him  of  the  appearance  of  the  sleek-haired 
demagogue  as  that  person  is  usually  represented  to  us.  He  was 
a  stout,  yeoman-looking  man,  with  a  frosty -red  face  and  short 
silver -white  whiskers;  he  had  keen,  shrewd  blue  eyes,  and  a 
hand  that  gave  a  firm  grip.  The  fact  is,  that  Molyneux  ha<l  in 
early  life  been  a  farmer,  and  a  well-to-do  farmer.  But  he  had  got 
smitten  with  the  writings  of  Cobbett,  and  he  began  to  write  too. 
Then  he  took  to  lecturing — on  the  land  laws,  on  Robert  Owen- 
ism,  on  the  Church  of  England,  but  more  especially  on  co-opera- 
tion. Finding,  however,  that  all  this  pamphleteering  and  lectur- 
ing was  playing  ducks  and  drakes  with  his  farming,  and  being  in 
manv  respects  a  shrewd  and  sensible  person,  he  resolved  on  sell- 
ing out  of  his  farm  and  investing  the  proceeds  in  the  government 
stock  of  America,  the  country  of  his  deepest  admiration.  In  the 
end  he  found  that  he  had  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a 
year,  on  which  he  could  live  very  comfortably,  while  giving  up 
all  his  time  and  attention  to  his  energetic  propagandisni.  This 
was  the  person  who  now  gave  Brand  a  hearty  greeting,  and  then 
took  a  lont;:  draus>ht  at  the  tankard  of  ale. 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Brand,"  said  he,  looking  cautiously  around,  and 
then  cfiving  a  slv  wink,  "  I  thought  we  might  have  a  chat  bv  our- 
selves  in  this  corner." 

Brand  nodded ;  there  was  no  one  near  them. 

"Now  I  have  been  considering  about  what  you  told  me;  and 

last   night   I    called   on   Professor  ,  of  Owens  College,  ye 

know,  and  I  had  some  further  talk  with  him.  Well,  sir,  it's  a 
grand  scheme — splendid ;  and  I  don't  wonder  you've  made  such 
])rogress  as  I  hear  of.  And  when  all  the  lads  are  going  in  for  it, 
w  hat  would  they  say  if  old  John  Molyneux  kept  out,  eh  f 

"  Why,  they  would  say  he  had  lost  some  cf  his  old  pluck; 
that's  about  what  they  would  say,  isn't  it  ?"  said  Brand ;  though 

S 


170  SUNRISE. 

the  fact  was  that  he  was  thinking  a  good  deal  more  about  the 
letter  in  his  pocket. 

"  There  was  one  point,  though,  Mr.  Brand,  that  I  did  not  put 

before   either  Professor  or  yourself,  and  it  is  important. 

Tlie  point  is,  dibs." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Brand,  absently ;  he  was,  in  truth, 
recalling  the  various  phrases  and  sentences  in  that  letter  of  Fer- 
dinand Lind. 

"Dibs,  sir  —  dibs,"  said  the  farmer -agitator,  energetically. 
*'  You  know  what  makes  the  mare  to  go.  And  you  know  these 
arc  not  the  best  of  times ;  and  some  of  the  lads  will  be  thinking 
they  pay  enough  into  their  own  Union.  That's  what  I  want  to 
know,  Mr.  Brand,  before  I  can  advise  any  one.  You  need  mon- 
ey ;  how  do  you  get  it  ?  AVhat's  the  damage  on  joining,  and 
"after?" 

Brand  pulled  himself  together. 

"  Oh,  money  ?"  said  he.  "  That  need  not  trouble  you.  We 
exact  nothing.  How  could  we  ask  people  to  buy  a  pig  in  a 
poke?  There's  not  a  working-man  in  the  country  but  would  put 
us  down  as  having  invented  an  ingenious  scheme  for  living  on 
other  people's  earnings.     It  is  not  money  we  want ;  it  is  men." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Molyncux,  looking  rather  puzzled.  "  But 
when  you've  got  the  machine,  you  want  oil,  eh  ?  The  basis  of 
evervthins:,  sir,  is  dibs:  what  can  ve  do  without  it?" 

"We  want  money,  certainly,"  Brand  said.  "But  we  do  not 
touch  a  farthing  that  is  not  volunteered.  There  are  no  com- 
pulsory subscriptions.  We  take  it  that  the  more  a  man  sees  of 
what  we  are  doing,  and  of  what  has  to  be  done,  the  more  he  will 
be  willing  to  give  according  to  his  means ;  and  so  far  there  has 
been  no  disappointment." 

"  H'm  !"  said  Molyneux,  doubtfully.  "  I  reckon  you  won't  get 
much  from  our  chaps." 

"You  don't  know.  It  is  wonderful  what  a  touch  of  enthusi- 
asm will  do — and  emulation  between  the  local  centres.  Besides, 
we  are  always  having  accessions  of  richer  folk,  and  these  are  ex- 
pected to  make  up  all  deficiencies." 

"Ah  !"  said  the  other.  "  I  see  more  daylight  that  way.  Now 
you,  Mr.  Brand,  must  have  been  a  good  fat  prize  for  them,  eh  ?" 

The  shrewd  inquiring  glance  that  accompanied  this  remark  set 
George  Brand  laughing. 


EVASIONS.  171 

"I  see,  Mr.  Mulynciix,  y«>ii  want  to  get  at  tlie  'dibs'  of  every- 
thing. "Weil,  1  can't  cnligliton  you  any  furtlicr  until  you  join  us: 
you  have  not  said  whether  you  will  or  not." 

"  I  will !"  said  the  other,  bringing  his  fist  down  on  the  table, 
though  he  still  spoke  in  a  loud  whisper.  "  I'm  your  man  !  In 
for  a  penny,  in  for  a  pound  !" 

"1  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Brand,  politely,  "but  you  an;  in  for 
neither,  unless  you  like.  You  may  be  in  for  a  good  deal  of  work, 
though.  You  must  bring  us  men,  and  you  will  be  let  off  both 
the  penny  and  the  pound.  Now,  could  you  run  up  with  me  to 
London  to-niglit,  and  be  admitted  to-morrow,  and  get  to  know 
somethiiiii'  of  what  we  are  doing  T' 

"  Is  it  necessary  ?" 

"In  your  case, yes.  ^Vc  want  to  make  you  a  person  of  im- 
portance." 

So  at  last  Molyneux  agreed,  and  they  started  for  London  in 
the  evening;  the  big,  shrewd,  farmer- looking  man  being  as 
pleased  as  a  child  to  have  certain  signs  and  passwords  confided 
to  him.  Brand  made  light  of  these  things — and,  in  fact,  they 
were  only  such  as  were  used  among  the  outsiders ;  but  Molyneux 
was  keenly  interested,  and  already  pictured  himself  going  through 
Europe  and  holding  this  subtle  conversation  with  all  the  un- 
known companions  whom  chance  might  throw  in  his  Avay. 

But  long  ere  he  readied  London  the  motion  of  tlie  train  had 
sent  him  to  sleep  ;  and  George  Brand  had  plenty  of  time  to  think 
over  that  letter,  and  to  guess  at  what  possible  intention  might  lie 
under  its  })lausible  phrases.  He  had  leisure  to  think  of  other 
things,  too.  The  question  of  money,  for  example — about  which 
Molyneux  had  been  so  curious  with  regard  to  this  association — 
was  one  on  which  he  himself  was  but  slightly  informed,  the 
treasurv  departmoiit  Ix'ing  altogether  outside  his  sphere.  He  did 
not  even  know  whether  Lind  had  private  means,  or  was  enabled 
to  live  as  he  did  by  the  association,  for  its  own  ends.  He  knew 
that  the  Society  had  numerous  paid  agents ;  no  doubt,  he  himself 
could  have  claimed  a  salary,  had  it  been  worth  his  while.  But 
the  truth  is  that  "dibs"  concerned  him  very  little.  He  had  nev- 
er been  extravagant;  he  had  always  lived  well  within  liis  income; 
and  his  chief  satisfaction  in  being  possessed  of  a  liberal  fortune 
lay  in  the  fact  that  he  had  not  to  bother  his  head  about  money. 
There  was  one  worry  the  less  in  life. 


1/2  SUNRISE. 

But  tlien  George  Brand  liad  been  a  good  deal  about  tlie  world, 
and  had  seen  something  of  human  life,  and  knew  very  well  the 
power  the  possession  of  money  gives.  ^Vhy,  this  very  indiffc-r- 
ence,  this  happy  carelessness  about  pecuniary  details,  was  but  the 
consequence  of  his  having  a  large  fund  in  the  background  that 
he  could  draw  on  at  will.  If  he  did  not  overvalue  his  fortune, 
on  the  other  hand  he  did  not  undervalue  it;  and  he  was  about 
the  last  man  in  the  world  who  could  reasonably  have  been  ex- 
pected to  part  with  it. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A    TALISMAN. 


Natalie  Lind  was  busy  writing  at  the  window  of  the  drawing- 
room  in  Curzon  Street  when  Calabressa  entered,  unannounced. 
He  had  outstripped  the  little  Aniieli ;  perhaps  he  was  afraid  of 
being  refused.     He  was  much  excited. 

"  Forgive  me,  signorina,  if  I  startle  you,"  he  said,  rapidly,  in  his 
native  tongue;  "forgive  me,  little  daughter.  We  go  away  to- 
night, I  and  the  man  Kirski,  whom  you  saved  from  madness : 
we  are  ordered  away ;  it  is  possible  I  may  never  see  3'ou  again. 
Now  listen." 

He  took  a  seat  beside  her ;  in  his  hurry  and  eagerness  he  had 
for  the  moment  abandoned  his  airy  manner. 

"  When  I  came  liere  I  expected  to  see  you  a  school-girl — some 
one  in  safe-keeping — with  no  troubles  to  think  of.  You  are  a 
woman ;  you  may  have  trouble  ;  and  it  is  I,  Calabressa,  who 
would  then  cut  off  my  right  hand  to  help  you.  I  said  I  would 
leave  you  my  address ;  I  cannot.  I  dare  not  tell  any  one  even 
where  I  am  going.     What  of  that  ?     Look  well  at  this  card." 

He  placed  before  her  a  small  bit  of  pasteboard,  with  some  lines 
marked  on  it. 

"Now  we  will  imagine  that  some  day  yon  are  in  great  trouble; 
you  know  not  what  to  do;  and  you  suddenly  bethink  yourself, 
'Now  it  is  Calabressa,  and  the  friends  of  Calabressa,  who  must 
help  me — '  " 

"  Pardon  me,  signore,"  said  Natalie,  gently.  "  To  whom  should 
I  go  but  to  ray  father,  if  I  were  in  trouble?     And  whv  should 


A    TAI.rS.MAN.  IT.T 

one  anticijjatc  trouble?  If  it  were  to  come,  perhaps  one  might 
be  al)ie  to  brave  it." 

"My  little  daiiLtliter,  you  vex  nie.  You  must  listen.  If  no 
trouble  comes,  well  !  If  it  does,  are  you  any  the  worse  for  know- 
ing that  there  are  many  on  whom  you  can  rely?  Very  well; 
look  !     This  is  the  Via  Koina  in  Naples." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Natalie :  why  should  she  not  humor  the 
good-natured  old  albino,  who  had  been  a  friend  of  her  mother's? 

"You  go  along  it  until  you  come  to  this  little  lane;  it  is  the 
Vico  Carlo  ;  you  ascend  the  lane — here  is  the  first  turning — you 
go  round,  and  behold  !  the  entrance  to  a  court.  The  court  is 
dark,  but  there  is  a  lamp  burning  all  day  ;  go  farther  in,  there 
are  wine-vaults.  You  enter  the  wine-vaults,  and  say,  '  Bartolotti.' 
You  do  not  say,  '  Is  Signor  Bartolotti  at  home  V  or,  '  Can  I  see 
the  illustrious  Signor  Bartolotti,'  but  *  Bartolotti,'  clear  and  short. 
You  understand  ?" 

"You  give  yourself  too  much  trouble,  signore." 

"  I  hope  so,  little  daughter.  I  hope  you  will  never  have  to 
search  for  these  wine-vaults;  but  who  knows?  Alors,  one  comes 
to  you,  and  says,  'What  is  your  pleasure,  signorina?'  Then  you 
ask,  *  Where  is  Calabressa  ?'  The  answer  to  that  ?  It  may  be, 
'  We  do  not  know  ;'  or  it  may  be,  '  Calabressa  is  in  prison  again  ;' 
or  it  may  be,  '  Calabressa  is  dead.'  Never  mind.  When  Cala- 
bressa dies,  no  one  will  care  less  than  Calabressa  himself." 

"  Some  one  would  care,  signore  ;  you  have  a  mother." 

He  took  hor  hand. 

"And  a  daughter,  too,"  he  said,  lightly;  "if  the  wicked  little 
minx  would  only  listen.  Then  you  know  what  you  must  say  to 
the  man  whom  you  will  see  at  the  wine-vaults ;  you  must  say 
this,  '  Brother,  I  come  with  a  message  from  Calabressa  ;  it  is  the 
daughter  of  Natalie  Borezolyi  who  demands  your  help.'  Then 
do  you  know  what  will  happen  ?  From  the  next  morning  you 
will  be  under  the  protection  of  the  greatest  power  in  Europe  ;  a 
power  unknown  but  invincible  ;  a  power  that  no  one  dares  to 
disobey.  Ah,  little  one,  you  will  tind  out  what  the  friends  of 
Calabressa  can  do  for  you  when  you  appeal  to  them !" 

He  smiled  proudly. 

'''' Allans. '  Put  this  card  away  in  a  secret  place.  Do  not  show 
it  to  any  one ;  let  no  one  know  the  name  I  confided  to  you.  Can 
you  remember  it,  little  daughter?" 


174  SUNRISE. 

"  Bartolotti." 

"  Good !  Now  that  is  oire  point  settled ;  here  is  the  next. 
You  do  not  seem  to  have  any  portrait  of  your  mother,  my  little 
one  ?" 

"Ah,  no!"  she  exclaimed,  quietly;  for  she  was  more  interest- 
ed now.  "  I  suppose  my  father  could  not  bear  to  be  reminded 
of  his  loss  :  if  there  is  any  portrait,  I  have  not  seen  it;  and  how 
could  I  ask  him  ?" 

He  regarded  her  for  a  moment,  and  then  he  spoke  more  slow- 
ly than  hitherto : 

"  Little  Xatalushka,  I  told  you  T  am  going  away  ;  and  who 
knows  what  may  happen  to  me?  I  have  no  money  or  land  to 
leave  to  any  one  ;  if  I  had  a  wife  and  children,  the  only  name  I 
could  leave  them  would  be  the  name  of  a  jailbird.  If  I  were  to 
leave  a  will  behmd  me,  it  would  read,  '  My  heart  to  my  beloved 
Italia  ;  my  curse  to  Austria;  and  my — '  Ah,  yes,  after  all  I  have 
something  to  leave  to  the  little  Xataliishka." 

He  put  his  hand,  which  trembled  somewhat,  into  the  breast  of 
his  coat,  and  brought  out  a  small  leather  case. 

"  I  am  about  to  give  you  my  greatest  treasure,  little  one  ;  my 
only  treasure.     I  think  you  will  value  it." 

He  opened  the  case  and  handed  it  to  her ;  inside  there  was  a 
miniature,  painted  on  ivory  ;  it  might  have  been  a  portrait  of 
Natalie  herself.  For  some  time  the  girl  did  not  say  a  word,  but 
her  eyes  slowly  filled  with  tears. 

"  She  was  verv  beautiful,  signore,"  she  murmured. 

"Ah,  little  daughter,"  he  said,  cheerfully,  "  I  am  glad  to  see 
the  portrait  in  safe-keeping  at  last.  Many  a  risk  I  have  run  with 
it;  many  a  time  I  have  had  to  hide  it.  And  you  must  hide  it 
too  ;  let  no  one  see  it  but  yourself.  But  now  you  will  give  me 
one  of  your  own  in  exchange,  my  little  one  ;  and  so  the  bargain 
is  complete." 

She  went  to  the  small  table  adjuining  to  hunt  among  the 
photographs. 

"  And  lastly,  one  more  point,  Signorina  Natalushka,"  said  Ca- 
labressa,  with  the  air  of  one  who  had  got  through  some  difficult 
work.  "  You  asked  me  once  to  find  out  for  you  who  was  the 
ladv  from  whoTn  vou  received  the  little  silver  locket.  Well,  vou 
see,  that  is  now  out  of  my  power.  I  am  going  away.  If  you 
are  still  curious,  you  must  ask  some  one  else ;  but  is  it  not  natu- 


A    TALISMAN,  175 

val  to  suppose  tliat  tlie  locket  may  have  been  stolen  a  great  many 
years  aoo,  and  at  last  the  thief  resolves  to  restore  it  ?  No  mat- 
ter; it  is  only  a  locket." 

She  retiinicd  with  a  few  photographs  for  him  to  choose  from. 
He  picked  out  two. 

"There  is  one  for  me  ;  there  is  one  for  my  old  mother.  I  will 
say  to  her,  '  Do  you  remember  the  young  Hungarian  lady  who 
came  to  see  you  at  Spezia?  Put  on  your  spectacles  now,  and  see 
whether  that  is  not  the  same  young  lady.  Ah,  good  old  mother; 
can  you  see  no  better  than  that? — that  is  not  Natalie  Berezolyi 
at  all ;  that  is  her  daughter,  who  lives  in  ?]iigland.  But  she  has 
not  got  the  English  way ;  she  is  not  content  when  she  herself  is 
comfortable ;  she  thinks  of  others ;  she  lias  an  ear  for  voices  afar 
off.'     That  is  what  I  shall  say  to  the  old  mother." 

He  put  the  photographs  in  his  pocket. 

"In  the  mean  time,  my  little  daughter,"  said  he,  "  now  that 
our  pressing  business  is  over,  one  may  speak  at  leisure  :  and 
what  of  you,  now  ?  My  sight  is  not  very  good ;  but  even  my 
eyes  can  see  that  you  are  not  looking  cheerful  enough.  You  arc 
troubled,  Natalushka,  or  you  would  not  have  forgotten  to  thank 
nie  for  giving  you  the  only  treasure  I  have  m  the  world." 

The  girl's  pale  face  flushed,  and  she  said,  quickly, 

"There  are  some  things  that  arc  not  to  be  expressed  in  words, 
Signor  Calabressa.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  I  think  of  your  kind- 
ness to  me." 

"  Silence — silence  !  do  you  not  understand  my  joking  ?  Eh, 
hien  ;  let  ns  understand  each  other.  Your  father  has  spoken  to 
me  —  a  little,  not  much.  He  would  rather  have  an  end  to  the 
love  affair,  n^est  ce  pas  .^" 

"  There  are  some  other  things  that  are  not  to  be  spoken  of," 
the  girl  said,  in  a  low  voice,  but  somewhat  proudly. 

"  Natalushka,  I  will  not  have  you  answer  me  like  that.  It  is 
not  right.  If  you  knew  all  my  history,  perhaps  you  would  un- 
derstand why  I  ask  you  questions — why  I  interfere — why  you 
think  me  impertinent — " 

"Oh  no,  signore ;  how  can  I  think  that?" 

She  had  her  mother's  portrait  in  her  hand  ;  she  was  gazing  into 
the  face  that  was  so  strangely  like  her  own. 

"  Then  why  not  answer  me  ?" 

She  looked  up  with  a  quick,  almost  despairing  look. 


17G  SUNRISE. 

"  Because  I  try  not  to  think  about  it,"  she  said,  hurriedly. 
"  Because  I  try  to  think  only  of  my  work.  And  now,  Signor 
Calabressa,  you  liave  given  nie  sometliiug  else  to  think  about ; 
something  to  be  my  corapatiiun  when  I  am  alone;  and  from  my 
heart  I  thank  you." 

"  But  you  speak  as  if  you  were  in  great  grief,  my  little  one. 
It  is  not  all  over  between  you  and  your  lover?" 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  "What  can  I  say  ?"  she  exclaimed  ;  and  for 
a  moment  her  eyes  looked  up  with  the  appealing  look  of  a  child. 
"  He  does  not  write  to  me.  I  may  not  write  to  him.  I  must 
not  see  him." 

"Bat  then  there  may  be  reasons  for  delay  and  consideration, 
little  Xataluslika;  your  father  may  have  reasons.  And  your  fa- 
ther did  not  speak  to  me  as  if  it  were  altogether  impossible. 
What  he  said  was,  in  effect,  '  We  will  see — we  will  see.'  How- 
ever, let  us  return  to  the  important  point :  it  is  my  advice  to  you 
— you  cannot  have  forgotten  it — that  whatever  happens,  what- 
ever you  may  think,  do  not,  little  one,  seek  to  go  against  your  fa- 
ther's wishes.     You  will  promise  me  that?" 

"  I  have  not  forgotten,  signore  ;  but  do  you  not  remember  my 
answer?  I  am  no  longer  a  child.  If  I  am  to  obey,  I  must  have 
reasons  for  obeying." 

"What?"  said  he,  smiling.  "And  you  know  that  one  of  our 
chief  principles  is  that  obedience  is  a  virtue  in  itself?" 

"  I  do  not  belong  to  your  association,  Signor  Calabressa." 

"  The  little  rebel !" 

"  No,  no,  signore  ;  do  not  drive  me  into  a  false  position.  I  can- 
not understand  my  father,  wlio  has  always  been  so  kind  to  me  ; 
it  is  better  not  to  speak  of  it:  some  day,  when  you  come  back, 
Signor  Calabressa,  you  will  find  it  all  a  forgotten  story.  Some 
people  forget  so  readily;  do  they  not?" 

The  trace  of  pathetic  bitterness  in  her  speech  did  not  escape  him. 

"My  child,"  said  he,  "you  are  suffering;  I  perceive  it.  But 
it  may  soon  be  over,  and  your  joy  will  be  all  the  greater.  If 
not,  if  the  future  has  trouble  for  you,  remember  what  I  have  told 
you.  Allons  done  !  Keep  up  a  brave  heart ;  but  I  need  not  say 
that  to  the  child  of  the  lierezolyis." 

lie  rose,  and  at  the  same  moment  a  bell  was  heard  below. 

"You  are  not  going,  Signor  Calabressa?  That  must  be  my 
father." 


A    TALISMAN,  177 

"Your  father!"  lio  oxclaiiued;  and  he  socined  confused.  Then 
lie  added,  tjuickly,  "All,  very  well.  I  will  sec  him  as  I  go  down. 
Our  business,  little  one,  is  finished ;  is  it  not  ?  Now  repeat  to 
nie  the  name  I  nieiiti'ined  to  }<iu." 

"  Bartolotti  ?" 

"  Excellent,  excellent !  And  you  will  keep  the  portrait  from 
every  one's  eyes  but  your  own.     Now,  farewell !" 

He  took  her  two  hands  in  his. 

"My  beautiful  child,"  said  he,  in  rather  a  trembling  voice, 
"may  Heaven  keep  you  as  true  and  brave  as  your  mother  was, 
and  send  you  more  happiness.  I  may  not  see  England  again — 
no,  it  is  not  likely  ;  but  in  after-years  you  may  sometimes  think 
of  old  Calabressa,  and  remember  that  he  loved  you  almost  as  he 
once  loved  another  of  your  name."     • 

Surely  she  must  have  nnderstood.  He  hurriedly  kissed  her  on 
the  forehead,  and  said,  "Adieu,  little  daughter!"  and  left.  And 
when  he  had  gone  she  sunk  into  the  chair  again,  and  clasped 
both  her  hands  round  her  mother's  portrait  and  burst  into  tears. 

Calabressa  made  his  way  down -stairs,  and,  at  the  foot,  ran 
amiinst  Ferdinand  Lind. 

"Ah,  amico  mio,"  said  he,  in  his  gay  manner.  "See  now,  we 
have  been  bidding  our  adieux  to  the  little  Natalushka — the  rogue, 
to  pretend  to  me  she  had  no  sweetheart !  Shall  we  have  a  glass 
of  wine,  mon  capitaine,  before  we  embark?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Lind,  though  without  any  great  cordiality. 
"  Come  into  my  little  room." 

He  led  him  into  the  small  study,  and  presently  there  was  wine 
upon  the  table.  Calabressa  was  exceedingly  vivacious,  and  a 
little  difficult  to  follow,  especially  in  his  French.  But  Lind  al- 
lowed him  to  rattle  on,  until  by  accident  he  referred  to  some 
meeting  that  was  shortly  to  take  place  at  T'osilipo. 

"  Well,  now,  Calabressa,"  said  Lind,  with  apparent  carelessness, 
as  he  broke  off  a  bit  of  biscuit  and  poured  out  a  glass  of  wine 
for  himself,  "I  suppose  you  know  more  about  the  opinions  of 
the  Council  now  than  any  one  not  absolutely  within  itself." 

"  T  am  a  humble  servant  only,  friend  Lind,"  he  remarked,  as  he 
thrust  his  lingers  into  the  breast  of  his  military-looking  coat — 
"  a  humble  servant  of  mv  most  noble  masters.  But  sometimes 
one  hears — one  guesses — mais  a  quel  propos  cette  question,  mon- 
sieur mon  camarade  ?" 

8* 


178 


SUNRISE. 


Lind  regarded  him  ;  and  said,  slowly, 

"  \  oil  know,  Calabressa,  that  some  seventeen  years  ago  I  was 
on  the  point  of  being  elected  a  member  of  the  Council." 

"I  know  it,"  said  the  other,  with  a  little  embarrassment. 

"  You  know  why — though  you  do  not  know  the  right  or  the 
wrong  of  it — all  that  became  impossible." 

Calabressa  nodded.  It  was  delicate  ground,  and  he  was  afraid 
to  speak. 

"Well,"  said  Lind,  "I  ask  you  boldly  — do  you  not  think  I 
have  done  enough  in  these  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  to  reinstate 
myself  ?     Who  else  has  done  a  tithe  of  the  work  I  have  done  ?" 

"  Friend  Lind,  I  think  that  is  well  understood  at  head-quar- 
ters." 

"  Very  well,  then,  Calabressa,  what  do  you  think  ?  Consider 
what  I  have  done  ;  consider  what  I  have  now  to  do — w  hat  I  mav 
yet  do.  There  is  this  Zaccatelli  business.  I  do  not  approve  of 
it  myself.  I  think  it  is  a  mistake,  as  far  as  England  is  concerned. 
The  English  will  not  hear  of  assassination,  even  though  it  is  such 
a  criminal  as  the  cardinale  affamatore  who  is  to  be  punished. 
But  though  I  do  not  approve,  I  obey.  Some  one  from  the  Eng- 
lish section  will  fulfil  that  duty  :  it  is  something  to  be  considered. 
Then  money  ;  think  of  the  money  I  have  contributed.  Without 
English  money  what  would  have  been  done?  when  there  is  any 
new  levy  wanted,  it  is  to  England— to  me— they  apply  first;  and 
at  the  present  moment  their  cry  for  money  is  more  urgent  than 
ever.  Very  well,  then,  my  Calabressa;  what  do  vou  think  of  all 
this  ?" 

Calabressa  seemed  somewhat  embarrassed. 

"  Friend  Lind,  I  am  not  so  far  into  their  secrets  as  that.  Be- 
ing in  prison  so  long,  one  loses  terms  of  familiarity  with  many 
of  one's  old  associates,  you  perceive.  But  your  claims  are  un- 
doubted, my  friend  ;  yes,  yes,  undoubted." 

"But  what  do  you  think,  Calabressa?"  he  said;  and  that  af- 
fectation of  carelessness  had  now  gone :  there  was  an  eao-er  look 
in  the  deep-set  eyes  under  the  bushy  eyebrows.  "  What  do  you 
yourself  think  of  my  chance?  It  ought  to  be  no  chance;  it 
ought  to  be  a  certainty.  It  is  my  due.  I  claim  it  as  the  reward 
of  my  sixteen  years'  work,  to  say  nothing  of  what  went  before." 

"^4 A,  naturellement,  sans  doufe,  tu  as  raison,  mon  camnrade" 
said  the  politic  Calabressa,  endeavoring  to  get  out  of  the  ditfi- 


A    TALISMAX.  179 

culty  with  a  .slinii;-  of  his  shouhlers,  "But — hut — the  more  one 
knows  of  the  Council  the  more  one  fears  prying  into  its  secrets. 
No,  no  ;  I  do  what  I  am  toM  ;  fur  the  rest  my  ears  are  closed." 

"  If  I  were  on  the  Council,  Calahressa,"  said  Lind,  slowly, 
"you  would  be  treated  with  more  consideration.  You  liave 
earned  as  mucli." 

"A  thousand  thanks,  friend  Lind,"  said  the  other;  "  but  I  have 
no  more  ambitions  now.  The  time  for  that  is  past.  Let  them 
make  wliat  they  can  out  of  old  Calahressa  —  a  stick  to  beat  a 
dog  with ;  as  long  as  I  liave  my  liberty  and  a  cigarette,  I  am 
content." 

"Ah,  well,"  said  Lind,  resuming  his  careless  air,  "  you  mnst 
not  imagine  I  am  seriously  troubled  because  the  Council  have  not 
as  yet  seen  fit  to  think  of  what  I  have  done  for  them.  I  am 
their  obedient  servant,  like  yourself.  Some  day,  perhaps,  I  may 
be  summoned." 

"A  la  bonne  heure  T  said  Calahressa,  rising.  "  Xo,  no  more 
wine.  Your  port-wine  here  is  glorious  —  it  is  a  wine  for  the 
gods;  but  a  very  little  is  enough  for  a  man.  So, farewell,  my 
good  friend  Lind.  Be  kind  to  the  beautiful  Natalushka,  if  that 
other  thing  t-hat  I  spoke  of  is  impossible.  If  the  bounty  of 
Heaven  had  only  given  me  such  a  daughter  I" 

"  Kirski  wiH  meet  vou  at  the  station,"  said  Lind.  "  Charing 
Cross,  you  remember;  eight  sharp.     The  train  is  8.25." 

"  I  will  be  there." 

They  shook  hands  and  parted ;  tlie  door  was  shut.  Then,  in 
the  street  outside,  Calahressa  glanced  up  at  the  drawing-room 
windows  just  for  a  second. 

"Ah,  little  daughter,"  he  said  to  himself  as  ho  turned  away, 
"  you  do  not  know  the  power  of  the  talisman  I  have  given  you. 
But  you  will  not  use  it.  You  will  be  happy;  you  will  marry 
the  Englishman;  vou  will  have  little  children  round  your  knee; 
and  you  will  lead  so  busy  and  glad  a  life,  year  after  year,  that 
you  will  never  have  a  minute  to  sit  down  and  think  of  old  Cala- 
hressa, or  of  the  stupid  little  map  of  Najilcs  he  left  with  you." 


ISO  SUNRISE. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

AN    ALTERNATIVE. 

Once  again  the  same  great  city  hold  these  two.  When  George 
Brand  looked  out  in  the  morning  on  the  broad  river,  and  the 
bridges,  and  the  hurrying  cabs  and  trains  and  steamers,  he  knew 
that  this  flood  of  dusky  sunshine  was  falling  also  on  the  quieter 
ways  of  Hyde  Park  and  the  semi-silent  thoroughfares  adjoining. 
They  were  in  the  same  city,  but  they  were  far  apart.  An  invisi- 
ble barrier  separated  them.  It  was  not  to  Curzon  Street  that  he 
directed  his  stops  when  he  went  out  into  the  still,  close  air  and 
the  misty  sunlight. 

It  was  to  Lisle  Street  that  he  walked ;  and  all  the  way  he  was 
persuading  himself  to  follow  Calabressa's  advice.  He  would  be- 
tray no  impatience,  however  specious  Lind  might  be.  He  would 
shut  down  that  distrust  of  Natalie's  father  that  was  continually 
springing  up  in  his  mind.  He  would  be  considerate  to  the  difti- 
culties  of  his  position,  ready  to  admit  the  reasonableness  of  his 
arguments,  mindful  of  the  higher  duties  demanded  of  himself. 
But  then — but  then — he  bethought  him  of  that  evening  at  the 
theatre  ;  he  remembered  what  she  had  said ;  how  she  had  looked. 
He  was  not  going  to  give  up  his  beautiful,  proud-natured  sweet- 
heart as  a  mere  matter  of  expediency,  as  the  conclusion  of  a  clev- 
er bit  of  argument. 

.  When  he  entered  Mr.  Lind's  room  he  found  Ileinrich  Reitzei 
its  sole  occupant.  Lind  had  not  yet  arrived;  the  pallid-facod 
young  man  with  the  2^ince-}iez  was  in  possession  of  his  chair. 
And  no  sooner  had  George  Brand  made  liis  appearance  than 
Reitzei  rose,  and,  with  ^  significant  smile,  motioned  the  new- 
comer to  take  the  vacant  seat  he  had  just  quitted. 

"  What  do  you  moan  ?"  Brand  said,  naturally  taking  another 
chair,  which  was  much  nearer  him. 

"  ^\  ill  you  not  soon  be  occupying  this  seat  en  permanence  f^ 
Reitzei  said,  with  affected  nonchalance. 


AX    ALTERNATIVE.  181 

"  Lind  lias  abdicated,  tlien,  I  presume,"  said  Uraml,  coldly  : 
this  youni;-  man's  manner  had  never  been  very  grateful  to  him. 

Reitzci  sunk  into  the  seat  again,  and  twirled  at  his  little  black 
waxed  mustache. 

"Abdicated?  No;  not  yet,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of  indiffer- 
ence. "  IJut  if  one  were  to  be  translated  to  a  higher  sphere  ? — 
there  is  a  vacancy  in  the  Council." 

"Then  he  would  have  to  live  abroad,"  said  Brand,  quickly. 

The  younger  man  did  not  fail  to  observe  this  eagerness,  and  no 
doubt  attributed  it  to  a  wrong  cause.  It  was  no  sudden  hope  of 
succeeding  to  Lind's  position  that  prompted  the  exclamation  ;  it 
was  the  possibility  of  Natalie  being  cai-ried  away  from  England. 

"  He  would  have  to  live  in  the  place  called  nowhere,"  said 
Reitzei,  with  a  calm  smile.  "  He  would  have  to  live  in  the  dark 
— in  the  middle  of  the  night — everywhere  and  nowhere  at  the 
same  moment."  - 

l>rand  was  on  the  point  of  asking  what  would  then  become  of 
Natalie,  but  he  forbore.     He  changed  the  subject  altogether. 

"  How  is  that  mad  Russian  fellow  getting  on — Kirski  ?  Still 
working  V 

"  Yes ;  at  another  kind  of  work.  Calabressa  has  undertaken 
to  turn  his  vehemence  into  a  proper  channel — to  let  off  the  steam, 
as  it  were,  in  another  direction." 

"  Calabressa  ?" 

"  Kirski  has  become  the  humble  disciple  of  Calabressa,  and  has 
gone  to  (ienoa  with  him." 

''  What  folly  is  this  1"  Brand  said.  "  Have  you  admitted  that 
maniac  ?" 

"  Certainly  ;  such  force  was  not  to  be  wasted." 

"  A  pretty  disciple !  How  much  Russian  does  Calabressa 
know  ?" 

"Gathorne  Edwards  is  with  them;  it  is  some  special  business. 
Both  Calabressa  and  Kirski  will  be  capital  linguists  before  it  is 
over." 

"  But  how  has  Edwards  got  leave  again  from  the  British 
Museum  V 

Reitzei  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"1  believe  Lind  wants  to  buv  him  over  altogether.  \Ve  could 
pay  him  more  than  the  British  Museum." 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  sound  outside  of  some  one. ascend- 


182  SUNRISE. 

ing  the  stair,  and  directly  afterward  Mr.  Lind  entered  the  room. 
As  he  came  in  Reitzei  left. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Brand?"  Lind  said,  shaking  his  visitor's 
hand  with  great  warmth.  "  Very  glad  to  see  you  looking  so 
well ;  hard  work  docs  not  hurt  you,  clearly.  I  hope  I  have  not 
incommoded  you  in  asking  you  to  run  up  to  London?" 

"Not  at  all,"  Brand  said.  "Molyneux  came  up  with  me  last 
night." 

"  Ah  !     You  have  gained  him  over  ?" 

"  Quite." 

"  Again  I  congratulate  you.  Well,  now,  since  we  have  begun 
upon  business,  let  us  continue  upon  business." 

He  settled  himself  in  his  chair,  as  if  for  some  serious  talk. 
Brand  could  not  help  being  struck  by  the  brisk,  vivacious,  ener- 
getic look  of  this  man ;  and  on  this  morning  he  was  even  more 
than  usually  smartly  dressed.  Was  it  his  daughter  who  had  put 
that  flower  in  his  button-hole  ? 

"  I  will  speak  frankly  to  you,  and  as  clear  as  I  can  in  my  poor 
English.  You  must  let  me  say,  without  flattery,  that  we  are  all 
very  indebted  to  you — very  proud  of  you  ;  we  are  glad  to  have 
you  with  us.  And  now  that  you  see  farther  and  farther  about 
our  work,  I  trust  you  are  not  disap[)ointed.  You  understand  at 
the  outset  you  must  take  so  much  on  trust." 

"  I  am  not  in  the  least  disappointed  ;  quite  the  reverse,"  Brand 
said ;  and  he  remembered  Calabressa,  and  spoke  in  as  friendly  a 
way  as  possible,  "  Indeed,  many  a  time  T  am  sorry  one  cannot 
explain  more  fully  to  those  who  are  only  inquiring.  If  they 
could  only  see  at  once  all  that  is  going  on,  they  would  have  no 
more  doubt.     And  it  is  slow  work  with  some  of  them." 

"  Yes,  certainly  ;  no  doubt.  Well,  to  return,  if  you  please:  it 
is  a  satisfaction  you  are  not  disappointed  ;  that  you  believe  we 
are  doing  a  good  work  ;  that  you  go  with  us.  Very  well.  You 
have  advanced  grade  by  grade;  you  see  nothing  to  repent  of; 
why  not  take  the  final  step  ?" 

"I  don't  quite  understand  you,"  he  said,  doubtfully. 

"I  will  explain.  You  have  given  yourself  to  us — your  time, 
your  labor,  your  future  ;  but  the  final  step  of  self-sacrifice — is  it 
so  very  difficult?  In  many  cases  it  is  merely  a  challenge:  we 
say, '  Show  that  you  can  trust  us  even  for  your  very  livelihood. 
Become  absolutely  dependent  on  us,  even  for  your  food,  your 


AX     ALTERNATIVE.  183 

drink,  your  clothes.'  In  your  case,  I  admit,  it  is  something  more  : 
it  is  an  invitation  to  a  very  considerable  sclf-sacritice.  All  the 
more  proof  that  you  are  not  afraid." 

"I  do  not  think  1  am  afraid,"  said  Brand,  slowly  ;  "but — " 

"One  moment.  The  atfair  is  simple.  The  otKcers  of  our 
society — those  who  govern — those  from  wliom  are  chosen  the 
members  of  the  Council  —  that  Council  that  is  more  powerful 
than  any  government  in  Europe — those  officers,  I  say,  are  re- 
quired first  of  all  to  surrender  every  farthing  of  personal  prop- 
erty, so  that  they  shall  become  absolutely  dependent  on  the  So- 
ciety itself — " 

Brand  looked  a  trifle  bewildered  :  more  than  that,  resentful 
and  indiiinant,  as  if  his  common-sense  had  received  a  shock. 

"  It  is  a  necessary  condition,"  Lind  continued,  without  eager- 
ness— rather  as  if  he  wore  merely  enunciating  a  theory.  "  It  in- 
sures absolute  equality  ;  it  is  a  proof  of  faith.  And  you  may  per- 
ceive that,  as  I  am  alive,  they  do  not  allow  one  to  starve." 

The  slight  smile  that  accompanied  this  reniark  was  meant  to 
be  reassuring.  Certainly,  Mr.  Lind  did  not  starve  ;  if  the  Society 
of  which  he  was  a  member  enabled  him  to  live  as  he  did  in  Cur- 
zon  Street,  he  had  little  to  complain  of. 

"  You  mean,"  said  George  Brand,  "  that  before  I  enter  this 
highest  grade,  next  to  the  Council,  I  must  absolutely  surrender 
my  entire  fortune  to  you  ?" 

"To  the  common  fund  of  the  Society — yes,"  was  the  reply; 
uttered  as  a  matter  of  course. 

"  But  there  is  no  compulsion  ?" 

"  Certainly  not.  On  this  point  every  one  is  free.  You  may 
remain  in  your  present  grade  if  you  please." 

"  Then  I  confess  to  yon  I  don't  see  why  I  should  change,"  Brand 
said,  franklv.     "  Cannot  I  work  as  well  for  vou  iust  as  I  am  ?" 

"  Perhaps ;  perhaps  not,"  said  the  other,  easily.  "  But  you 
perceive,  further,  that  the  fact  of  our  not  exacting  subscriptions 
from  the  poorer  members  of  our  association  makes  it  all  the 
more  necessary  that  we  should  have  voluntary  gifts  from  the 
richer.  And  as  regards  a  surplus  of  wealth,  of  what  use  is  that 
to  any  one?  Am  I  not  oranted  as  much  money  as  one  need  rea- 
sonably want?  And  just  now  there  is  more  than  ever  a  need 
of  money  for  the  general  purposes  of  the  Society  :  Lord  Evelyn 
gave  us  a  thousand  pounds  last  week." 


184  SUNRISE. 

Brand  flushed  red. 

"  I  wish  you  liad  told  mc,"  he  said  ;  "  I  would  rather  have 
o;ivcn  vou  five  thousand.     You  know  he  cannot  afford  it." 

"  The  greater  the  merit  of  the  sacrifice,"  said  his  companion, 
calmly. 

This  proposal  was  so  audacious  that  George  Brand  was  still  a 
little  bewildered;  but  the  fact  was  that,  while  listening  very  re- 
spectfully to  Mr.  Liud,  he  had  been  thinking  more  about  Natalie; 
and  it  was  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  that  some  thought 
of  her  should  now  intervene. 

"Another  thing,  Mr.  Lind,"  said  he,  though  he  was  rather  em- 
barrassed. "  Even  if  I  were  to  make  such  a  sacrifice,  as  far  as  I 
am  concerned ;  if  I  were  to  run  the  risk  for  myself  alone,  that 
might  be  all  very  well ;  but  supposing  that  I  were  to  marry,  do 
you  think  I  should  like  my  wife  to  run  such  a  risk — do  you  think 
I  should  be  justified  in  allowing  her  ?  And  surely  you  ought  not 
to  ask  me.     It  is  your  own  daughter — 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Brand,"  said  the  other,  blandly  but  firmly. 
"We  will  restrict  ourselves  to  business  at  the  present  moment, 
if  you  will  be  so  kind.  I  wrote  to'  you  all  that  occurred  to  me 
when  I  had  to  consider  your  very  flattering  proposal  with  regard 
to  my  daughter;  I  may  now  add  that,  if  any  thought  of  her  in- 
terfered with  your  decision  in  this  matter,  I  should  still  further 
regret  that  you  had  ever  met." 

"  You  do  not  take  the  view  a  father  would  naturally  take  about 
the  future  of  his  own  daughter,"  said  Brand,  bluntly. 

Lind  was  not  in  the  least  moved  by  this  taunt. 

"  I  should  allow^  neither  the  interests  of  my  daughter  nor  my 
own  interests  to  interfere  with  my  sense  of  duty,"  said  he.  "  Do 
you  know  me  so  little?  Do  you  know  her  so  little?  Ah,  then 
you  have  much  to  learn  of  her  1" 

Lind  looked  at  him  for  a  second  or  two,  and  added,  with  a 
slight  smile, 

"If  you  decide  to  say  no,  be  sure  I  will  not  say  a  word  of  it 
to  her.  No ;  I  will  still  leave  the  child  her  hero  in  her  imagina- 
tion. For  when  I  said  to  her,  'Natalie,  an  Englishman  will  do  a 
good  deal  for  the  good  of  the  people — he  will  give  you  his  sym- 
pathy, his  advice,  his  time,  his  labor — but  he  will  not  put  his  hand 
in  his  pocket;'  then  she  said,  'All,  but  you  do  not  understand  Mr. 
Brand  yet,  papa;  he  is  with  us;  he  is. not  one  to  go  back.' ". 


A.V    ALTERNATiVK.  185 

"  But  tliis  abandonment  of  one's  property  is  so  disproportion- 
ate ill  (litlVrent  cases — " 

"  The  greater  the  sacrifice,  the  greater  the  merit,"  returned  the 
otlier:  then  lie  immediately  added,  "  But  do  not  imagine  I  am 
seekino'  to  persuade  you.  I  place  before  you  the  condition  on 
which  you  may  go  forward  and  attain  the  highest  rank,  ultimate- 
ly perhaps  the  greatest  power,  in  this  organization.  Ah,  you  do 
not  understand  what  that  is  as  yet.  If  you  knew,  you  would  not 
hesitate  very  long,  I  think." 

"But — but  suppose  I  have  no  great  ambition,"  Brand  remon- 
strated. "Suppose  I  am  quite  content  to  go  on  doing  what  I 
can  in  my  present  sphere  P 

"  Vuu  have  already  sworn  to  do  your  utmost  in  every  direc- 
tion. On  this  one  point  of  money,  however,  the  various  Coun- 
cils have  never  departed  from  the  principle  that  there  must  be  no 
compulsion.  On  any^  other  point  the  Council  orders;  you  obey. 
On  this  point  the  voluntary  sacriiice  has,  as  I  say,  all  the  more 
merit;  and  it  is  not  forgotten.  For  what  are  you  doing?  You 
are  yielding  up  a  superabundance  that  you  cannot  use,  so  that 
thousands  and  thousands  of  the  poor  throughout  the  world  may 
not  be  called  on  to  contribute  theh-  pence.  You  are  giving  the 
tinal  proof  of  your  devotion.  You  are  taking  the  vow  of  pover- 
ty and  dependence,  which  many  of  the  noblest  brotherhoods  the 
world  has  seen  have  exacted  from  their  members  at  the  very  out- 
set ;  but  in  your  case  with  the  difference  that  you  can  absolutely 
trust  to  the  resources  of  an  immense  association — " 

"  Yes,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  Brand  said,  quickly,  "But 
I  ask  you  whether  I  should  be  justitied  in  throwing  away  this 
power  to  protect  others.  May  I  appeal  to  Natalie  herself  ?  May 
I  ask  herT' 

"  I  am  afraid,  Mr.  Brand,"  said  the  other,  with  the  same  mild 
firmness,  "  I  must  request  you  in  the  mean  time  to  leave  Natalie 
out  of  consideration  altogether.  This  is  a  question  of  duty,  of 
principle;  it  must  regulate  our  future  i*elations  with  each  other; 
pray  let  it  stand  by  itself." 

Brand  sat  silent  for  a  time.  There  were  many  things  to  think 
over.  He  recalled,  for  example,  though  vaguely,  a  conversation 
he  had  once  had  with  Lord  Evelyn,  in  which  this  very  question 
of  money  was  discussed,  and  in  which  he  had  said  that  he  would 
above  all  things  make  sure  he  was  not  being  duped.     Moreover, 


186  SUNRISE. 

he  bad  intended  that  his  property,  in  the  event  of  his  dying  un- 
married, should  go  to  his  ncpliews.  But  it  was  not  liis  sister's 
boys  who  were  now  uppermost  in  liis  mind. 

He  rose. 

"  You  cannot  expect  me  to  give  you  a  definite  answer  at  once," 
he  said,  ahnost  absently. 

"  No ;  but  before  you  go,  let  me  add  this,"  said  the  other, 
regarding  his  companion  with  a  watchful  look:  "the  Council  are 
not  only  in  urgent  need  of  liberal  funds  just  now,  but  also,  in 
several  directions,  of  diligent  and  exceptional  service.  The 
money  contribution  which  they  demand  from  England  I  shall 
be  able  to  meet  somehow,  no  doubt ;  hitherto  I  have  not  failed 
them.  The  claim  for  service  shall  not  find  us  wanting,  either,  I 
hope ;  and  it  has  been  represented  to  me  that  perhaps  you  ought 
to  be  transferred  to  Philadelphia,  where  there  is  much  to  be  done 
at  the  present  moment." 

This  suggestion  effectually  woke  Brand  from  his  day-dream. 

"  Philadelphia  !"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  speaking  very  slowly,  as  if  anxious  that 
every  word  should  have  weight.  "  My  visit,  short  as  it  was,  en- 
abled me  to  see  how  well  one  might  employ  one's  whole  lifetime 
there — witli  such  results  as  would  astonish  our  good  friends  at 
head-quarters,  I  am  sure  of  that.  True,  the  parting  from  one's 
country  might  be  a  little  painful  at  first;  but  that  is  not  the 
greatest  of  the  sacrifices  that  one  should  be  prepared  to  submit 
to.  However,"  he  added,  rather  more  lightly,  "this  is  still  to  be 
decided  on ;  meanwhile  I  hope,  and  I  am  sure  you  hope  too,  Mr. 
Brand,  that  I  shall  be  able  to  satisfy  the  Council  that  the  Eng- 
lish section  docs  not  draw  back  when  called  on  for  its  services." 

"  No  doubt — no  doubt,"  Brand  said ;  but  the  pointed  way  in 
which  his  companion  had  spoken  did  not  escape  him,  and  prom- 
ised to  afford  him  still  further  food  for  reflection. 

Jiut  if  this  was  a  threat,  he  woufd  show  no  fear. 

"  Molyneux  wishes  to  get  back  North  as  soon  as  possible,"  he 
said,  in  a  matter-of-fact  way,  just  as  if  they  had  been  talking  of 
commonplace  affairs  the  whole  time.  "  I  suppose  his  initiation 
could  take  place  to-morrow  night?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Lind,  following  his  visitor  to  the  door. 
"And  you  must  allow  me  to  thank  you  once  more,  my  dear  Mr. 
Brand,  for  your  service  in  securing  to  us  such  an  ally.     I  should 


A  krien'd's   advice.  187 

like  to  have  talked  with  you  about  your  experiences  in  the 
North;  but  you  aoTcc  with  me  that  the  snfra;estion  I  have  made 
demands  your  serious  consideration  first — is  it  not  so  ?" 

]>rand  nodded. 

"  I  will  K't  you  know  to-morrow,"  said  he.     "  Good-morninp,'!" 

"Good  -  innr, ling  !"  said  Mr.  Lind,  pleasantly;  and  then  the 
door  was  shut. 

He  was  attended  down-stairs  by  the  stout  old  German,  who, 
on  reaching  the  front-door,  drew  forth  a  letter  from  his  pocket 
and  handed  it  to  him  with  much  pretence  of  mystery.  He  was 
thinking  of  other  things,  to  tell  the  truth;  and  as  he  walked 
along  he  regarded  the  outside  of  the  envelope  with  but  little  cu- 
riosity. It  was  addressed,  ''^AlV  Er/rer/io  Signorc,  It  Signor  G. 
Brandy 

"No  doubt  a  begging  letter  from  some  Leicester  Square  fel- 
low," he  thought. 

Presently,  however,  he  opened  the  letter,  and  read  the  follow- 
ing message,  which  was  also  in  Italian  : 

"  The  beautiful  caged  little  bird  sighs  and  weeps,  because  she 
thinks  she  is  forgotten.  A  word  of  remembrance  would  be 
kind,  if  her  friend  is  discreet  and  secret.  Above  all,  no  open 
strife.     This  from  one  who  departs.     Farewell !" 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


A   friend's    advice. 


This  must  be  said  for  George  Brand,  that  while  he  was  hard 
and  unsympathetic  in  the  presence  of  those  whom  he  disliked  or 
distrusted,  in  the  society  of  those  whom  he  did  like  and  did  trust 
he  was  docile  and  acquiescent  as  a  child,  easily  led  and  easily 
persuaded.  When  he  went  from  Lind's  chamber,  wdiieh  had 
been  to  him  full  of  an  atmosphere  of  impatience  and  antagonism, 
to  Lord  Evelyn's  study,  and  found  his  friend  sitting  reading 
there,  his  whole  attitude  changed  ;  and  his  first  duty  was  to  utter 
a  series  of  remonstrances  about  the  thousand  pounds. 

"You  can't  afford  it,  Evelyn.  Why  didn't  you  come  to  me? 
I  would  have  given  it  to  you  a  dozen  times  over  rather  than  you 
should  have  paid  it." 


188  SUNRISE. 

"  No  doubt  you  would,"  said  the  pale  lad.  "  That  is  why  I 
did  not  come  to  you." 

"  I  wish  you  could  get  it  back." 

"  I  would  not  take  it  hack.  It  is  little  enough  I  can  do ;  why 
not  let  me  give  such  help  as  I  can  ?  If  only  those  girls  would 
begin  to  marrv  off,  I  might  do  more.  But  there  is  such  a  band 
of  them  that  men  are  afraid  to  come  near  them." 

"I  think  it  would  be  a  pity  to  spoil  the  group,"  said  Brand. 
"  The  country  should  subscribe  to  keep  them  as  they  are — the 
perfect  picture  of  an  English  family.  However,  to  return :  you 
must  promise  me  not  to  commit  any  of  these  extravagances 
again.     If  any  appeal  is  made  to  you,  come  to  me." 

But  here  a  thought  seemed  to  strike  him. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "I  have  something  to  tell  you.  Lind  is  trying 
to  get  me  to  enter  the  same  grade  of  officership  with  himself. 
And  do  you  know  what  the  first  qualification  is? — that  you  give 
up  every  penny  you  possess  in  the  world." 

"  Well  ?" 

"  Well !" 

The  two  friends  stared  at  each  other — the  one  calmly  inquisi- 
tive, the  other  astounded. 

"I  thought  you  would  have  burst  out  laughing?"  Brand  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Why  ?"  said  the  other.  "  You  have  already  done  more  for 
them — for  us — than  that:  why  should  you  not  do  all  in  your 
power  ?  Why  should  you  not  do  all  that  you  can,  and  while  you 
can  ?     Look  1" 

They  were  standing  at  the  window.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
street  far  below  them  were  some  funei'al  carriages ;  at  this  pre- 
cise moment  the  coffin  was  being  carried  across  the  pavement. 

"  That  is  the  end  of  it.  I  say,  why  shouldn't  you  do  all  that 
you  can,  and  while  you  can?" 

"Do  you  want  reasons?  Well,  one  has  occurred  to  me  since 
I  came  into  this  room.  A  minute  ago  I  said  to  you  that  you 
must  not  repeat  that  extravagance ;  and  I  said  if  you  were  ap- 
pealed to  again  you  could  come  to  me.  But  what  if  I  had  al- 
ready surrendered  every  penny  in  the  world?  I  wish  to  retain 
in  mv  own  hands  at  least  the  power  to  help  ray  friends." 

"That  is  only  another  form  of  selfishness,"  said  Lord  Evelyn, 
laughing.     "  I  fear  you  are  as  yet  of  weak  faith,  Brand." 


A    HUEXU'S    ADVICE.  189 

He  turned  from  the  liglit,  and  went  and  sunk  into  the  sliadow 
of  a  oTcat  arni-cliair. 

"Now  1  know  wliat  y<>u  arc  going  to  do,  Evelyn,"  said  his 
fricml.  "You  are  going  to  talk  me  out  of  my  common-sense; 
;iii(l  I  will  nut  have  it.  I  want  to  show  you  why  it  is  impossible 
1  should  agree  to  this  demand." 

"  If  you  feel  it  to  be  imi)ossiblc,  it  is  impossible." 
"  My  dear  fellow,  is  it  reasonable  ?" 
"  I  dislike  things  that  are  reasonable." 

"  There  is  but  one  way  of  getting  at  you.  Have  you  thought 
of  Natalie  ?" 

"Ah  !"  said  the  other,  quickly  raising  himself  into  an  expectant 
attitude. 

"You  will  listen  now,  I  suppose,  to  reason,  to  common-sense. 
Do  you  think  it  likely  that,  with  the  possibility  of  her  becoming 
my  wife,  I  am  going  to  throw  away  this  certainty  and  leave  her 
to  all  the  chances  of  the  world  ?  _  Lind  says  that  the  Society 
amply  provides  for  its  officers.  Very  well ;  that  is  quite  proba- 
ble. I  tell  him  that  I  am  not  afraid  for  myself;  if  I  had  to 
think  of  myself  alone,  there  is  no  saying  what  I  might  not  do, 
even  if  I  were  to  laugh  at  myself  for  doing  it.  But  how  about 
Natalie?  Lind  might  die.  I  might  be  sent  away  to  the  ends 
of  the  earth.  Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  leave  lier  at  the  mercy 
of  a  lot  of  people  whom  she  never  saw  ?" 
Lord  Evelyn  was  silent. 

"  Besides,  there  is  more  than  that,"  his  friend  continued,  warm- 
ly. "You  may  call  it  selfishness,  if  you  like,  but  if  you  love  a 
woman  and  she  gives  her  life  into  your  hands — well,  she  has 
the  first  claim  on  you.  I  will  put  it  to  you  :  do  you  think 
I  am  going  to  sell  the  Bceches^when — when  she  might  live 
there  ?" 

Lord  Evelyn  did  not  answer. 

"  Of  course  I  am  willing  to  subscribe  largely,"  his  friend  con- 
tinued;  "and  Natalie  lierself  would  say  yes  to  that.  But  I  am 
not  ambitions.  I  don't  want  to  enter  that  grade.  I  don't  want 
to  sit  in  Lind's  chair  when  he  gets  elected  to  tlie  Council,  as  has 
been  suggested  to  me.  I  am  not  qualified  for  it;  I  don't  care 
about  it;  I  can  best  do  mv  own  work  in  mv  own  wav." 

At  last  Lord  Evelyn  spoke;  but  it  was  in  a  meditative  fashinn, 
and  not  very  much  to  the  point.     He  lay  back  in  his  easy-chair, 


190  SUNRISE. 

his  hands  clasped  behind  his  head,  and  talked ;  and  his  talk  was 
not  at  all  about  the  selling  of  Hill  Beeches  in  Buckinglianisliire, 
but  of  much  more  abstract  matters.  He  spoke  of  the  divine 
wrath  of  the  reformer — what  a  curious  thing  it  was,  that  fiery 
impatience  with  what  was  wrong  in  the  world;  how  it  cropped 
up  here  and  there  from  time  to  time;  and  how  one  abuse  after 
another  had  been  burnt  up  by  it  and  swept  away  forever.  Give 
the  man  possessed  of  this  holy  rage  all  the  beauty  and  wealth 
and  ease  in  the  world,  and  he  is  not  satisfied ;  there  is  something 
within  him  that  vibrates  to  the  call  of  humanity  without;  others 
can  pass  by  what  does  not  affect  themselves  with  a  laugh  or  a 
shrug  of  indifference;  he  only  must  stay  and  labor  till  the  wrong 
thing  is  put  right.  And  how  often  had  he  been  jeered  at  by 
the  vulgar  of  his  time;  how  Common-Sense  had  pointed  the  fin- 
ger of  scorn  at  him;  how  Respectability  had  called  him  crazed! 
John  Brown  at  Harper's  Ferry  is  only  a  ridiculous  old  fool  ;  his 
effort  is  absurd;  even  gentlemen  in  the  North  feel  an  "intellect- 
ual satisfaction"  that  he  is  hanged,  because  of  his  "preposterous 
miscalculation  of  possibilities."  Yes,  no  doubt;  you  hang  liira, 
and  there  is  an  end;  but  "his  soul  goes  marching  on,"  and  the 
slaves  are  freed !  You  want  to  abolish  the  Corn-laws? — all  good 
society  shrieks  at  you  at  first :  you  are  a  Radical,  a  regicide,  a 
Judas  Iscariot ;  but  in  time  the  nation  listens,  and  the  poor  have 
cheap  bread.  "  Mazzini  is  mad  !"  the  world  cries  :  "  why  this  use- 
less bloodshed  ?  It  is  only  political  murder."  Mazzini  is  mad,  no 
doubt;  but  in  time  the  beautiful  dream  of  Italy  —  of  "Italia, 
the  world's  wonder,  the  world's  care" — comes  true.  And  what 
matter  to  the  reformer,  the  agitator,  the  dreamer,  though  you 
stone  him  to  death,  or  throw  him  to  the  lions,  or  clap  him  into 
a  nineteenth-century  prison  and  shut  his  mouth  that  way  ?  He 
has  handed  on  the  sacred  fire.  Others  will  bear  the  torch ;  and 
he  who  is  unencumbered  will  outstrip  his  fellows.  The  wrono- 
must  be  put  right. 

And  so  forth,  and  so  forth.  Brand  sat  and  listened,  recog- 
nizing here  and  there  a  proud,  pathetic  phrase  of  Natalie's,  and 
knowing  well  whence  the  inspiration  came  ;  and  as  he  listened  he 
almost  felt  as  though  that  beautiful  old  place  in  Buckinghamshire 
was  slipping  through  his  fingers.  The  sacrifice  seemed  to  be  be- 
coming less  and  less  of  a  sacrifice ;  it  took  more  and  more  the 
form  of  a  duty  ;  would  Natalie's  eyes  smile  approval  ? 


A  friend's  auvice.  191 

Brand  jumped  up,  and  touk  a  ia[iid  turn  ur  two  iip  and  down 
the  room. 

"  I  Wdh't  listen  to  von,  Evclvn.  Yon  don't  know  anvtliino: 
about  nioiK'V-inatters.  You  care  for  notliin";  but  ideas.  Now,  I 
come  of  a  commercial  stock,  and  I  want  to  know  what  j2;uaraii- 
tee  I  have  that  this  money,  if  I  were  to  give  it  up,  would  be 
properly  ap[)lied.     Lind's  assurances  arc  all  very  well — " 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course ;  you  have  got  back  to  Lind,"  said  Lord 
Evelyn,  waking  up  from  his  reveries.  "Do  you  know,  my  dear 
fellow,  that  your  distrust  of  Lind  is  rapidly  developing  into  a 
sharp  and  profound  hatred?" 

"  I  take  men  as  1  tind  them.  Perhaps  you  can  explain  to  me 
how  Lind  should  care  so  little  for  the  future  of  his  daughter  as 
to  propose  —  with  the  possibility  of  our  marrying  —  that  she 
should  be  left  penniless?" 

"  I  can  explain  it  to  myself,  but  not  to  you ;  you  are  too  thor- 
ough an  Englishman." 

"Are  you  a  foreigner?" 

"  I  try  to  understand  those  who  arc  not  English.  Xow,  an 
Englishman's  theory  is  that  he  himself,  and  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren— his  domestic  circle,  in  fact — are  the  centre  of  creation; 
and  that  the  fate  of  empires,  as  he  finds  that  going  one  way  or 
the  other  in  the  telegrams  of  the  morning  paper,  is  a  very  small 
matter  compared  with  the  necessity  of  Tom's  going  to  Eton,  or 
Dick's  marrying  and  settling  down  as  tlie  bailiff  of  the  ^Vorces- 
tershire  farm.  That  is  all  very  well ;  but  other  people  may  be 
of  a  ditferent  habit  of  mind.  Lind's  heart  and  soul  are  in  his 
present  work ;  he  would  sacrifice  himself,  his  daughter,  you,  or 
anybody  else,  to  it,  and  consider  himself  amply  justified.  Ue 
does  not  care  about  money,  or  horses,  or  the  luxury  of  a  big  es- 
tablishment; I  suppose  he  has  liad  to  live  on  simple  fare  many 
a  time,  whether  he  liked  it  or  not,  and  can  put  up  with  what- 
ever happens.  If  you  imagine  that  you  may  be  cheated  by  a 
portion  of  your  money — supposing  you  were  to  adopt  his  pro- 
posal—  going  into  his  pocket  as  commission,  you  do  him  a 
wrong." 

"No,  I  don't  think  that,'' Brand  said,  rather  unwillingly.  '' 1 
don't  take  liim  to  be  a  common  and  vulgar  swindler.  And  I  can 
verv  well  believe  that  he  does  not  care  verv  much  for  monev  or 
luxurv  or  that  kind  of  thing,  so  far  as  he  himself  is  concerned. 


192  SUNRISE. 

Still,  you  would  thinlc  tliat  tlie  ordinary  instinct  of  a  father  would 
prevent  hh  doinji;  an  injury  to  tlie  future  of  his  daughter — " 

"  Would  he  consider  it  an  injury  ?     Would  she  V 

"Well,"  Brand  said,  "  she  is  very  enthusiastic,  and  nohlc,  and 
generous,  and  does  not  know  what  dependence  or  poverty  means. 
But  he  is  a  man  of  the  world,  and  you  would  think  he  would  look 
after  his  own  kith  and  kin." 

"  Yes,  that  is  a  wholesome  conservative  English  sentiment,  but 
it  does  not  rule  the  actions  of  everybody." 

"  But  common-sense — " 

"  Oh,  bother  common-sense  !  Common-sense  is  only  a  grocer 
that  hasn't  got  an  idea  beyond  ham-and-eggs." 

''  Well,  if  I  am  only  a  grocer,"  Brand  said,  quite  submissively, 
"  don't  you  think  the  grocer,  if  he  were  asked  to  pay  oil  the 
National  Debt,  ought  to  say,  'Gentlemen,  that  is  a  praiseworthy 
object ;  but  in  the  mean  time  wouldn't  it  be  advisable  for  me  to 
make  sure  that  my  wife  mayn't  have  to  go  on  the  parish?" 

Thereafter  there  was  silence  for  a  time,  and  when  Brand  next 
spoke  it  was  in  a  certain,  precise,  hard  fashion,  as  if  he  wished  to 
make  his  meaning  very  clear. 

"  Suppose,  Evelyn,"  he  said,  "  I  were  to  tell  you  what  has  oc- 
curred to  me  as  the  probable  explanation  of  Lind's  indifference 
about  the  future  of  his  daughter,  would  you  be  surprised?" 

"I  expect  it  will  be  wrong,  for  you  cannot  do  justice  to  that 
man  ;  but  I  should  like  to  hear  it." 

"I  must  tell  you  he  wrote  lue  a  letter,  a  shilly-shallying 
sort  of  letter,  filled  with  arguments  to  prove  that  a  marriage  be- 
tween Natalie  and  myself  would  not  be  ex[)edient,  and  all  the 
rest  of  it:  not  absolutely  refusing  his  consent,  you  understand, 
but  postponing  the  mattter,  and  hoping  that  on  further  reflection, 
et  csetera,  et  caetera.  Well,  do  you  know  what  my  conclusion  is? 
— that  he  is  definitely  resolved  I  shall  not  marry  his  daughter; 
and  that  he  is  playing  with  me,  humbugging  me  with  the  possi- 
bility of  marrying  her,  until  he  induces  me  to  hand  him  over  my 
fortune  for  the  use  of  the  Society.  Stare  away  as  you  like ;  that 
is  what  I  believe  to  be  true." 

He  rose  and  walked  to  the  window,  and  looked  out. 

"  Well,  Evelyn,  whatever  happens,  I  have  to  thank  you  for 
many  things.  It  has  been  all  like  my  boyhood  come  back  again, 
but  much  more  wonderful  and  beautiful.     If  I  have  to  go  to 


A  friend's  advice.  19:J 

America,  I  shall  take  with  me  at  least  the  memory  of  one  night 
at  Co  vent  Garden.  She  was  there — and  Madame  rotccki — and 
old  Calabressa.  It  was  Fidelio  they  were  playing.  She  gave 
me  some  forget-rac-nots." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  going  to  America?"  Lord  Evelyn  said. 

Brand  remained  at  the  window  for  a  minute  or  two,  silent,  and 
then  he  returned  to  his  chair. 

"You  will  say  I  am  unjust  again.  I>ut  unless  I  am  incapable 
of  understanding  English  —  such  English  as  he  speaks  —  this  is 
his  ultimatum  :  that  unless  I  give  my  property,  every  cent  of  it, 
over  to  the  Society,  I  am  to  go  to  America.  It  is  a  distinct  and 
positive  threat." 

"How  can  you  say  so!"  the  other  remonstrated.  "He  has 
just  been  to  America  himself,  without  any  compulsion  wliatevcr." 

"He  has  been  to  America  for  a  certain  number  of  weeks.  I 
am  to  go  for  life — and,  as  he  imagines,  alone." 

His  face  had  been  growing  darker  and  darker,  the  brows  low- 
ering ominously  over  the  eyes. 

"Now,  Brand,"  his  friend  said,  "you  are  letting  your  distrust 
of  this  man  Lind  become  a  madness.  What  if  lie  were  to  say 
to-morrow  that  you  might  marry  Natalie  the  day  after?" 

The  other  looked  up  almost  bewildered. 

"  I  would  say  he  was  serving  some  purpose  of  his  own.  But 
he  will  not  say  that.  He  means  to  keep  his  daughter  to  him- 
self, and  he  means  to  have  my  money." 

"  Why,  you  admitted,  a  minute  ago,  that  even  you  could  not 
suspect  him  of  that !" 

"  Not  for  liimself — no.  Probably  he  does  not  care  for  money. 
But  he  cares  for  ambition — for  power;  and  there  is  a  vacancy 
in  the  Council.  Don't  you  see?  This  would  be  a  tremendous 
large  sum  in  the  eyes  of  a  lot  of  foreigners:  they  would  be  grate- 
ful, would  they  not?  And  Natalie  once  transferred  to  Italy,  I 
could  console  myself  with  the  honor  and  dignity  of  Lind's  chair 
in  Lisle  Street.     Don't  you  perceive  ?" 

"I  perceive  this — that  you  misjudge  Lind  altogether.  T  am 
sure  of  it.  I  have  seen  it  from  the  beginniiig — from  the  moment 
you  set  your  foot  in  his  house.  And  you  tried  to  blind  your- 
self to  the  fact  because  of  Natalie.  Now  that  you  imagine  he 
means  to  take  Natalie  from  you,  all  your  pent-up  antagonism 
breaks  loose.     Meanwhile,  w  hat  does  Natalie  herself  say  ?" 

9 


194  SUNRISE. 

"  What  does  she  say  V  he  repeated,  mechanically.  He  also 
was  lying  back  in  his  chair,  his  eyes  gazing  aimlessly  at  the  win- 
dow. But  whenever  any  one  spoke  of  Natalie,  or  whenever  he 
himself  had  to  speak  of  her,  a  quite  new  expression  came  into 
his  face :  the  brows  lifted,  the  eyes  were  gentle.  "  "What  does 
she  say  ?  Why,  nothing.  Lind  requested  me  neither  to  see  her 
nor  to  write  to  her;  and  I  thought  that  reasonable  until  I  should 
have  heard  what  he  had  to  say  to  me.  There  is  a  message  I  got 
half  an  hour  ago — not  from  her." 

He  handed  to  Lord  Evelyn  the  anonymous  scroll  that  he  had 
received  from  the  old  German. 

"  Poor  old  C^labressa  !"  he  said.  "  Those  Italians  are  always 
very  fond  of  little  mysteries.  But  how  he  must  have  loved  that 
woman !" 

"  Natalie's  mother  ?" 

*'  Yes,"  said  the  other,  absently.  "  I  wonder  he  has  never  gone 
to  see  his  sweetheart  of  former  years." 

"  What  do  you  mean  V 

Brand  started.  It  was  not  necessary  that-  Lord  Evelyn  should 
in  the  mean  time  be  intrusted  with  that  secret. 

"  He  told  me  that  when  he  saw  Natalie  it  was  to  him  like  a 
vision  from  the  dead ;  she  was  so  like  her  mother.  But  I  must 
be  off,  Evelyn ;  I  have  to  meet  Molyneux  at  two.  So  that  is 
your  advice,"  he  said,  as  he  went  to  the  door — "  that  I  should 
comply  with  Lind's  demand ;  or — to  put  it  another  way — suc- 
cumb to  his  threat  ?" 

"  It  is  not  my  advice  at  all — quite  the  contrary.  I  say,  if  you 
have  any  doubt  or  distrust  —  if  you  cannot  make  the  sacrifice 
without  perfect  faith  and  satisfaction  to  yourself — do  not  think 
of  it." 

"  And  go  to  America  ?" 

"  I  cannot  believe  that  any  such  compulsory  alternative  exists. 
But  about  Natalie :  surely  you  will  send  her  a  message :  Lind 
cannot  object  to  that  ?" 

"  I  will  send  her  no  message ;  I  will  go  to  her,"  the  other  said, 
firmly.  "  I  believe  Lind  wishes  me  not  to  see  her.  Within  the 
duties  demanded  of  me  by  the  Society,  his  wishes  are  to  me  com- 
mands ;  elsewhere  and  otherwise  neither  his  wishes  nor  his  com- 
mands do  I  value  more  than  a  lucifer  -  match.  Is  that  plain 
enough,  Evelyn  ?" 


A    PUOMISE.  195 


And  so  he  went  away,  forgetting  all  the  sage  counsel  Cala- 
bressH  had  given  Iiim  ;  thinking  ratlier  of  tlie  kindly,  tlionghtful, 
mysterious  little  message  the  old  man  had  left  behind  him,  and 
of  the  beautiful  caged  bird  that  sighed  and  wept  because  she 
thought  she  was  forgotten.     She  should  not  think  that  long ! 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A    PROMISE. 


Tins  was  a  dark  time  indeed  for  Natalie  Lind — left  entirely 
by  herself,  ignorant  of  what  was  happening  around  her,  and 
haunted  by  vague  alarms.  But  the  girl  was  too  proud  to  show 
to  any  one  how  much  she  suffered.  On  the  contrary,  she  rea- 
soned and  remonstrated  with  herself;  and  forced  herself  to  as- 
sume an  attitude  of  something  more  than  resignati(jn,  of  resolu- 
tion. If  it  was  necessary  that  her  father  should  be  obeyed,  that 
her  lover  should  maintain  this  cruel  silence,  even  that  he  and  she 
should  have  the  wide  Atlantic  separate  them  forever,  she  would 
not  repine.  It  was  not  for  her  who  had  so  often  appealed  to 
others  to  shrink  from  sacrifice  herself.  And  if  this  strange  new 
hope  that  had  tilled  her  heart  for  a  time  had  to  be  finally  aban- 
doned, what  of  that?  "What  mattered  a  single  life?  She  had 
the  larger  liope ;  there  was  anotlier  and  greater  future  for  her  to 
think  about ;  and  she  could  cherish  the  thought  that  she  at  least 
had  done  nothing  to  imperil  or  diminish  the  work  to  which  so 
many  of  her  friends  had  given  their  lives. 

But  silence  is  hard  to  bear.  Ever  since  the  scene  with  her 
father,  a  certain  undeclared  estrangement  had  prevailed  between 
these  two  ;  and  no  reference  whatsoever  had  been  made  to  George 

'  CD 

Brand.  Ilcr  lover  had  sent  her  no  message — no  word  of  encour- 
agement, of  assurance,  or  sympathy.  Even  Calabrcssa  had  gone. 
There  remained  to  her  only  the  portrait  that  Calabrcssa  had 
given  her ;  and  in  the  solitude  of  her  own  room  many  a  time  she 
sat  and  gazed  at  the  beautiful  face  with  some  dim,  wondering 
belief  that  she  was  looking  at  her  other  self,  and  that  she  could 
read  in  the  features  some  portion  of  her  own  experiences,  her 
own  joys  and  sorrows.  For  surely  those  soft,  dark,  liquid  eyes 
must  have  loved  and  been  beloved?     And  had  they  too  filled 


196  SUNRISE. 

with  oladncss  when  a  certain  step  liad  been  heard  coming  near? 
and  liad  tliey  looked  up  with  trust  and  pride  and  tenderness, 
and  tilled  with  tears  again  in  absence,  when  only  the  memory  of 
loving  words  remained  ?  She  recalled  many  a  time  what  Cala- 
bressa  had  said  to  her — "  My  child,  may  Heaven  keep  you  as  true 
and  brave  as  your  mother  was,  and  send  you  more  happiness." 
Her  mother,  then,  had  not  been  happy  ?  But  she  was  brave, 
Calabressa  had  said  :  when  she  loved  a  man,  would  she  not  show 
herself  worthy  of  her  love  ? 

This  was  all  very  well ;  but  in  spite  of  her  reasoning  and  her 
forced  courage,  and  her  self-possession  in  the  presence  of  others, 
Natalie  had  got  into  the  habit  of  crying  in  the  quietude  of  her 
own  room,  to  the  great  distress  of  the  little  Anneli,  who  had  sur- 
prised her  once  or  twice.  And  the  ros3'-cheeked  German  maid 
guessed  pretty  accurately  what  had  happened;  and  wondered 
very  much  at  the  conduct  of  English  lovers,  who  allowed  their 
sweethearts  to  pine  and  fret  in  solitude  without  sending  them 
letters  or  coming  to  see  them.  But  on  this  particular  afternoon 
Anneli  opened  the  door,  in  answer  to  a  summons,  and  found  out- 
side a  club  commissionaire  whom  she  had  seen  once  or  twice  be- 
fore ;  and  when  he  gave  her  a  letter,  addressed  in  a  handwriting 
which  she  recognized,  and  asked  for  an  answer,  she  was  as  much 
agitated  as  if  it  had  come  from  her  own  sweetheart  in  Gorlitz. 
She  snatched  it  from  the  man,  as  if  she  feared  he  would  take  it 
back.  She  flew  with  it  up  -  stairs,  breathless.  She  forgot  to 
knock  at  the  door. 

"Oh,  Fraulein,  it  is  a  letter!"  said  she,  in  great  excitement, 
"  and  there  is  to  be  an  answer — " 

Then  she  hesitated.  But  the  good-sense  of  the  child  told  her 
she  ought  to  go. 

"  I  will  wait  outside,  Fraulein.  Will  you  ring  when  you  have 
written  the  answer  ?" 

When  Natalie  opened  the  letter  she  was  outwardly  quite  calm 
— a  little  pale,  perhaps ;  but  as  she  read  it  her  heart  beat  fast. 
And  it  was  her  heart  that  instantly  dictated  the  answer  to  this 
brief  and  simple  appeal : 

"  My  Natalie, — It  is  your  father's  wish  that  I  should  not  see 
you.  Is  it  your  wish  also?  There  is  something  I  would  like  to 
say  to  you." 


A    PROMISE.  197 

It  was  her  heart  that  answered.  She  rose  directly.  She  never 
tlu^iio-ht  twice,  or  even  once,  about  any  wish,  or  menace,  or  pos- 
sible consequence.  She  went  straight  to  her  desk,  and  with  a 
shakinu'  hand  wrote  these  lines: 

"  Mv  Own, — Come  to  me  now,  at  any  time — when  you  please. 
Am  I  not  yours:"  Natalie." 

Despite  herself,  she  had  to  pause,  to  steady  her  hand — and  be- 
cause her  heart  was  beating  so  fast  that  she  felt  choked — before 
she  could  properly  address  the  envelope.  Then  she  carried  the 
letter  to  Anneli,  who  she  knew  was  waitino*  outside.  That  done, 
she  shut  herself  in  again,  to  give  herself  time  to  think,  though 
in  truth  she  could  scarcely  think  at  all.  For  all  sorts  of  emotions 
were  struggling  for  the  mastery  of  her — joy  and  a  proud  resolve 
distinctly  predominant.  It  was  done,  and  she  would  abide  by  it. 
She  was  not  given  to  fear. 

But  she  tried  hard  to  think.  At  last  her  lover  was  coming  to 
her ;  he  would  ask  her  what  she  was  prepared  to  do :  what 
would  she  answer? 

Then,  again,  the  joy  of  the  thought  that  she  was  about  to  see 
him  drove  every  other  consideration  out  of  her  mind.  How 
soon  might  he  be  here?  Hurriedly  she  went  to  a  jar  of  flowers 
on  the  table,  chose  some  scarlet  geraniums,  and  turned  to  a  mir- 
ror. Her  haste  did  not  avail  much,  for  her  fingers  were  still 
trembling ;  but  that  was  the  color  he  had  said,  on  one  occasion, 
suited  her  best.  She  had  not  been  wearing  flowers  in  her  hair 
of  late. 

From  time  to  time,  for  a  second  or  so,  some  thought  of  her 
father  intervened.  But  then  her  father  had  only  enjoined  her  to 
dismiss  forever  the  hope  of  her  marrying  the  man  to  whom  she 
had  given  her  heart  and  her  life :  that  could  not  prevent  her  lov- 
ing him,  and  seeing  him,  and  telling  him  that  her  love  was  his. 
She  wished  the  geraniums  were  less  rose-red  and  more  scarlet  in 
hue.  It  was  the  scarlet  he  had  approved  of — that  evening  that 
he  and  she  and  the  little  Polish  lady  had  dined  together. 

She  had  not  long  to  wait.  With  a  (]uick,  intense  conscious- 
ness she  heard  the  hansom  drive  up,  and  the  rapid  knock  that 
followed;  her  heart  throbbed  through  the  seconds  of  silence; 
then  she  knew  that  he  was  ascending  the  stair;  then  it  seemed 


198  SUNRISE. 

to  her  as  if  the  life  would  go  out  of  her  altogether.  But  when 
he  flung  the  door  open  and  came  toward  her;  when  he  caught 
her  two  hands  in  his — one  hand  in  each  hand — and  held  them 
tight ;  when,  in  a  silence  that  neither  cared  to  break,  he  gazed 
into  her  rapidly  moistening  eyes — then  the  full  tide  of  joy  and 
courage  returned  to  her  heart,  and  she  was  proud  that  she  had 
sent  him  that  answer.  For  some  seconds  —  to  be  remembered 
during  a  lifetime — they  regarded  each  other  in  silence;  then  he 
released  her  hands,  and  began  to  put  back  the  hair  from  her  fore- 
head as  if  he  would  see  more  clearly  into  the  troubled  deeps  of 
her  eyes;  and  then,  somehow — perhaps  to  hide  her  crying — she 
buried  her  face  in  his  breast,  and  his  arms  were  around  her,  and 
she  was  sobbing  out  all  the  story  of  her  waiting  and  her  despair. 

"  What !"  said  he,  cheerfully,  to  calm  and  reassure  her,  "  the 
brave  Natalie  to  be  frightened  like  that !" 

"I  was  alone,"  she  murmured.  "I  had  no  one  to  speak  to; 
and  I  could  not  understand.  Oh,  my  love,  my  love,  you  do  not 
know  what  you  are  to  me !'' 

He  kissed  her ;  her  cheeks  were  wet. 

"  Natalie,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice,  "  don't  forget  this :  we  may 
be  separated  —  that  is  possible  —  I  don't  know;  but  if  we  live 
fifty  years  apart  from  each  other — if  you  never  hear  one  word 
more  from  me  or  of  me — be  sure  of  this,  that  I  am  thinking  of 
you  always,  and  loving  you,  as  I  do  at  this  moment  when  my 
arms  are  around  you.  Will  you  remember  that?  will  you  be- 
lieve that — always?" 

"  I  could  not  think  otherwise,"  she  answered.  "  But  now  that 
you  are  with  me — that  I  can  hear  you  speak  to  me — "  And  at 
this  point  her  voice  failed  her  altogether;  and  he  could  only 
draw  her  closer  to  him,  and  soothe  and  caress  her,  and  stroke  the 
raven-black  hair  that  had  never  before  thrilled  his  fino-ers  with 
its  soft,  strange  touch. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  said  at  last,  in  a  broken  and  hesitating  voice, 
"  yon  will  blame  me  for  having  said  what  I  have  said.  I  have 
had  no  girl-companions ;  scarcely  any  woman  to  tell  me  what  I 
should  do  and  say.  But — but — I  thought  you  were  going  to 
America — I  thought  I  should  never  see  you  again — I  was  lonely 
and  miserable ;  and  when  I  saw  you  again,  how  could  I  help  say- 
ing I  was  glad  ?  How  could  I  help  saying  that,  and  more  ? — for 
I  never  knew  it  till  now.     Oh,  my  love,  do  you  know  that  you 


A    PKOMISE.  19!) 

have  become  the  whole  world  to  me  ?     Who«  you  arc  away  from 
me,  I  would  rather  die  than  live !" 

"  Natalie— my  life  !" 

"1  must  say  that  to  you — once — that  you  may  understand — if 
we  should  never  see  each  other  again.     And  now — " 

She  gently  released  herself  from  his  embrace,  and  went  and 
sat  down  by  the  table.  He  took  a  chair  near  her  and  held  her 
liand.  She  would  not  look  up,  for  her  eyes  were  still  wet  with 
tears. 

"And  now,"  she  said,  making  a  great  effort  to  regain  her  self- 
control,  "  you  must  tell  me  about  yourself.  A  woman  may  liave 
her  feelings  and  fancies,  and  cry  over  them  when  she  is  afraid  or 
alone  ;  that  is  nothing  ;  it  is  the  way  of  the  world.  It  is  a  man's 
fate  that  is  of  importance." 

"  You  must  not  talk  like  that,  Natalie,"  said  he,  gravely.  "  Our 
fate  is  one.  Without  you,  I  don't  value  my  life  more  than  this 
bit  of  geranium-leaf;  with  you,  life  would  be  worth  having." 

"  And  you  must  not  talk  like  that  cither,"  she  said.  "  Your 
life  is  valuable  to  others.  Ah,  my  dear  friend,  that  is  what  I 
have  been  trying  to  console  myself  with  of  late.  I  said, '  Well, 
if  he  goes  away  and  does  not  see  me  again,  will  he  not  be  freer? 
He  has  a  great  work  to  do ;  he  may  have  to  go  away  from  Eng- 
land for  many  years  ;  why  should  he  be  encumbered  with  a  wife  i" 

"  It  was  your  father,  I  presume,  who  made  those  suggestions 
to  you  ?"  said  Brand,  regarding  her. 

"  Yes ;  papa  said  something  like  that,"  she  answered,  quite  in- 
nocently. "  That  is  what  would  naturally  occur  to  him ;  his 
work  has  always  the  first  place  in  his  thoughts.  And  with  you, 
too  ;  is  it  not  so  V 

"  No." 

She  looked  up  quickly. 

"I  will  be  quite  frank  with  you,  Natalie.  You  have  the  first 
place  in  my  thoughts ;  I  hope  you  ever  will  have,  while  I  am  a 
living  man.  But  cannot  I  give  the  Society  all  the  work  that  is 
in  me  equally  well,  whether  I  love  you  or  whether  I  don't,  whether 
you  become  ray  wife  or  whether  you  do  not?  I  have  no  doubt 
your  father  has  been  talking  to  you  as  he  has  been  talking  to 


me." 


She  placed  her  disengaged  hand  on  the  top  of  his,  and  said, 
gently, 


200  SUNRISE. 

"  My  father  perhaps  docs  not  quite  understand  you ;  perhaps 
he  is  too  anxious.  I,  for  one,  am  not  anxious — about  that.  Do 
you  know  how  1  trust  you,  my  dearest  of  friends  ?  Sometimes  I 
have  said  to  myself,  '  I  will  ask  him  for  a  pledge,  1  will  say  to 
him  that  he  must  promise,  that  he  must  swear  to  me,  that  what- 
ever happens  as  between  him  and  me,  nothing,  nothing,  nothing 
in  all  the  world  will  induce  him  to  give  up  what  he  has  under- 
taken ;'  but  then  again  I  have  said  to  myself,  '  No,  I  can  trust 
him  for  that.' " 

"  I  think  you  may,  Natalie,"  said  he,  rather  absently.  "  And 
yet  what  could  have  led  me  to  join  such  a  movement  but  your 
own  noble  spirit — the  glamour  of  your  voice — the  thanks  of  your 
eyes  ?     You  put  madness  into  my  blood  with  your  singing." 

"Do  you  call  it  madness?"  she  said,  with  a  faint  tlush  in  the 
pale  olive  face.  "  Is  it  not  rather  kindness — is  it  not  justice  to 
others — the  desire  to  help — something  that  the  angels  in  heaven 
jnust  feel  when  they  look  down  and  see  what  a  great  misery  there 
is  in  the  world  ?" 

"  I  think  you  are  an  angel  yourself,  Natalie,"  said  he,  quite 
simply,  "  and  that  you  have  come  down  and  got  among  a  lot  of 
people  who  don't  treat  you  too  well.  However,  we  must  come 
to  the  present  moment.  You  spoke  of  America:  now  what  do 
you  know  about  that  ?" 

The  abrupt  question  stai'tled  her.  She  had  been  so  overjoyed 
to  see  him — her  whole  soul  was  so  buoyant  and  radiant  with 
happiness — that  she  had  quite  forgotten  or  dismissed  the  vague 
fears  that  had  been  of  late  besetting  her.  But  she  proceeded  to 
tell  him,  with  a  little  hesitation  here  and  there,  and  with  a  con- 
siderable smoothing  down  of  phrases,  what  her  father  had  said  to 
her.  She  tried  to  make  it  appear  quite  reasonable.  And  all  she 
prayed  for  was  that,  if  he  were  sent  away  to  America,  if  they  had 
to  part  for  many  years,  or  forever,  she  should  be  permitted  to 
say  good-bye  to  him. 

"  We  are  not  parted  yet,"  said  Brand,  briefly. 

The  fact  was,  he  had  just  got  a  new  key  to  the  situation.  So 
that  threat  about  America  could  serve  a  double  purpose?  He 
was  now  more  than  ever  convinced  that  Ferdinand  Lind  was 
merely  playing  off  and  on  with  him  until  this  money  question 
should  be  settled;  and  that  he  had  been  resolved  all  tlie  time  that 
his  daughter  should  not  marry.     He  was  beginning  to  understand. 


A   PROMISE.  201 

'*  Natalie,"  said  be,  slowly,  "  I  told  you  I  had  soinetliinci:  to  say 
to  you.  You  know  your  fatlicf  \vi\)tc  to  iiic  iu  tbu  North,  asking 
mo  neither  to  see  you  nur  write  to  you  until  some  matter  be- 
tween him  and  me  was  settled.  Well,  I  respected  his  wish  until 
I  should  knuw  what  the  thing  was.  Now  that  I  do  know,  it 
seems  to  me  that  you  are  as  umch  concerned  as  any  one ;  and 
that  it  is  not  reasonable,  it  is  not  possible,  I  should  refrain  from 
seeing  you  and  consulting  you." 

"  No  one  shall  prevent  your  seeing  me,  when  it  is  your  wish," 
said  the  girl,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  This,  then,  is  the  point :  you  know  enough  about  the  Socie- 
ty to  understand,  and  there  is  no  particular  secret.  Your  father 
wishes  me  to  enter  the  higher  grade  of  ofHcers,  under  the  Coun- 
cil ;  and  the  first  condition  is  that  one  surrenders  up  every  far- 
thing of  one's  property." 

"Yes?" 

He  stared  at  her.  Her  "Yes?" — witU  its  affectionate  inter- 
est and  its  absolute  absence  of  surprise — was  almost  the  exact 
equivalent  of  Lord  Evelyn's  "  ^Vell  V 

"  Perhaps  you  would  advise  me  to  consent  ?"  he  said,  almost 
in  the  way  of  a  challenge. 

"  Ah,  no,"  she  said,  with  a  smile.  "  It  is  not  for  me  to  advise 
on  such  things.     "What  you  decide  for  yourself,  that  will  be  right." 

"But  you  don't  understand,  my  darling.  Supposing  I  were 
ambitious  of  getting  higher  office,  wliich  I  am  not;  supposing  I 
were  myself  willing  to  sell  my  property  to  swell  the  funds  of  the 
Society — and  I  don't  think  I  should  be  willing  in  any  case — do 
you  think  T  would  part  with  what  ought  to  belong  to  my  wife — 
to  von,  Natalie  ?  Do  you  think  I  would  have  you  marry  a  beg- 
gar—  one  dependent  on  the  indulgence  of  people  unknown  to 
iiim  ?" 

And  now  there  was  a  look  of  real  alarm  on  the  girl's  face. 

"Ah!"  she  said,  quickly.  "Is  not  that  what  my  father  fear- 
ed? You  are  thinking  of  me  when  you  should  think  of  others. 
Already  I — I — interfere  with  your  duty  ;  I  tempt  you — " 

"  My  darling,  be  calm,  be  reasonable.  There  is  no  duty  in  the 
matter;  your  father  acknowledges  that  himself.  It  is  a  proposal 
I  am  free  to  accept  or  reject,  as  I  please ;  and  now  I  promise  you 
that,  as  you  won't  give  me  any  advice,  I  shall  decide  without 
thinking  of  you  at  all.     Will  that  satisfy  you?" 

9* 


202  SUNRISE. 

She  remained  silent  for  a  second  or  two,  and  then  she  said, 
thoug'htfullj, 

"  Perhaps  you  could  decide  just  as  if  there  were  no  possibility 
of  my  ever  being  your  wife  V 

"To  please  you,  I  will  assume  that  too." 

Then  she  said,  after  a  bit, 

"  One  word  more,  dearest ;  you  must  grant  me  this — that  I 
may  always  be  able  to  think  of  it  when  I  am  alone  and  far  from 
you,  and  be  able  to  reassure  myself :  it  is  the  promise  I  thought 
I  could  do  so  well  without.     Now  you  will  give  it  me  ?" 

"What  promise?" 

"  That  whatever  happens  to  you  or  to  me,  whatever  my  father 
demands  of  me,  and  wherever  you  may  liave  to  go,  you  will  never 
withdraw  from  what  you  have  undertaken." 

He  met  the  earnest,  pleading  look  of  those  beautiful  eyes  with- 
out flinching.  His  heart  was  light  enough,  so  far  as  such  a  prom- 
ise was  concerned.     Heavier  oaths  than  that  lay  on  him. 

"That  is  simple  enough,  Natalie,"  said  he.  "I  promise  you 
distinctly  that  nothing  shall  cause  me  to  swerve  from  my  alle- 
giance to  the  Society  ;  I  will  give  absolute  and  implicit  obedience, 
and  the  best  of  such  work  as  I  can  do.  But  they  must  not  ask 
me  to  foi'get  my  Natalie." 

She  rose,  still  holding  his  hand,  and  stood  by  him,  so  that  he 
could  not  quite  see  her  face.  Then  she  said,  in  a  very  low  voice 
indeed, 

"Dearest,  may  I  give  you  a  ring? — you  do  not  wear  one  at 
all—" 

"  But  surely,  Natalie,  it  is  for  me  to  choose  a  ring  for  you  ?" 

"  Ah,  it  is  not  that  I  mean,"  she  said,  quickly,  and  with  her  face 
flushing.  "  It  is  a  ring  that  will  remind  you  of  the  promise  you 
have  given  me  to-day — when  we  may  not  be  able  to  see  each 
other." 


KIRSKI.  203 


CHAPTER  XXYII. 

KIKSKI. 

To  this  pale  student  from  the  lieiiding-room  of  the  British 
Museum,  us  he  stands  on  a  bridge  crossing  one  of  the  smaller 
canals,  surely  the  scene  around  him  must  seem  one  fitted  to  glad- 
den the  heart;  for  it  is  Venice  at  mid-day,  in  glowing  sunlight: 
the  warm  crcani-white  fronts  of  the  marble  palaces  and  casement- 
ed  houses,  the  tall  campanill  with  their  golden  tips,  the  vast  and 
glittering  domes  of  the  churches,  all  rising  fair  and  dream-like 
into  the  intense  dark-blue  of  a  cloudless  sky.  How  the  hot  sun- 
light brings  out  all  the  beautiful  color  of  the  place — the  richly 
laden  fruit-stalls  in  the  Riva  dei  Schiavoni ;  the  russet  and  saffron 
sails  of  the  vessels ;  the  canal-boats  coming  in  to  the  steps  with 
huge  open  tuns  of  purple  wine  to  be  ladled  out  with  copper 
buckets ;  and  then  all  around  the  shining,  twinkling  plain  of  the 
green-hued  sea,  catching  here  and  there  a  reflection  from  the  soft- 
ly red  walls  of  San  Giorgio  and  the  steel-gray  gleaming  domes  of 
Santa  Maria  della  Salute. 

Then  the  passers-by :  these  are  not  like  the  dusky  ghosts  that 
wander  through  the  pale-blue  mists  of  Bloomsbury.  Here  comes 
a  buxom  water-carrier,  in  her  orange  petticoat  and  sage-green 
shawl,  who  has  the  two  copper  cans  at  the  end  of  the  long  piece 
of  wood  poised  on  her  shoulders,  pretty  nearly  filled  to  the  brim. 
Then  a  couple  of  the  gayer  gondoliers  in  white  and  blue,  with 
fancy  waist- belts,  and  rings  in  their  ears.  A  procession  of  black- 
garbed  monks  wends  slowly  along;  they  have  come  from  the 
silence  of  the  Armenian  convent  over  there  at  the  horizon.  Some 
wandering  minstrels  shoot  their  gondola  into  the  mouth  of  the 
canal,  and  strike  up  a  gay  waltz,  while  they  watch  the  shaded 
balconies  above.  Here  is  a  Lascar  ashore  from  the  big  steamer 
that  is  to  start  for  Alexandria  on  the  morrow.  A  company  of 
soldiers,  with  blue  coats,  canvas  trousers,  and  white  gaiters,  half 
march  and  half  trot  along  to  the  quick,  crackling  music  of  the 
buglers.     A  swarthy-visaged  maiden,  with  the  calm  brow  of  a 


204  SUNRISE. 

Madonna,  appears  in  tlic  twilight  of  a  balcony,  with  a  packet  of 
maize  in  her  hand,  and  in  a  minute  or  two  she  is  surrounded  with 
a  cloud  of  pio-eons.  Then  this  beggar — a  child  of  eight  or  ten — 
red-haired  and  blue-eyed:  surely  she  has  stepped  out  of  one  of 
Titian's  pictures?  She  whines  and  whimpers  her  prayer  to  him ; 
but  there  is  something  in  her  look  that  he  has  seen  elsewhere. 
It  belongs  to  another  century. 

From  these  reveries  Mr.  Gathorne  Edwards  was  aroused  by 
some  one  tapping  him  on  the  shoulder.     It  was  Calabressa. 

"My  dear  Monsieur  Edouarts,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice — for 
the  red-haired  little  beggar  was  still  standing  there  expectant — 
"  he  has  gone  over  to  the  shipping-place.  AVe  must  follow  later 
on.  Meanwhile,  regard  this  letter  that  has  just  been  forwarded 
to  me.     Ah,  you  English  do  not  forget  your  promises !" 

Edwards  threw  a  piece  of  money  to  the  child,  who  passed  on. 
Then  he  took  the  letter  and  read  it.     It  was  in  French. 

"Dear  Calabressa, — I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  you  have 
done  with  Yakov  Kirski.  They  seem  unwilling  to  say  here,  and  I 
do  not  choose  to  inquire  further.  But  I  undertook  to  look  after 
him,  and  I  understood  he  was  getting  on  very  well,  and  now  you 
have  carried  him  off.  I  hope  it  is  with  no  intention  of  allowing 
him  to  go  back  to  Russia,  where  he  will  simply  make  an  attempt 
at  murder,  and  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  police.  Do  not  let  the 
poor  devil  go  and  make  a  fool  of  himself.  If  you  want  money 
to  send  him  back  to  England,  show  this  letter,  or  forward  it  to 

Messrs. ,  who  will  give  you  what  you  want. 

"  Your  friend,  George  Brand. 

"RS. — I  have  seen  your  beautiful  caged  little  bird.  I  can 
say  no  more  at  present,  but  that  she  shall  not  suffer  through  any 
neglect  of  mine." 

"  What  is  that  about  the  caged  bird  ?"  said  Edwards. 

"Ah,  the  caged  bird?"  said  Calabressa.  "The  caged  bird? — 
do  you  see,  that  is  a  metaphor.  It  is  nothing ;  one  makes  one's 
little  joke.  But  I  was  saying,  my  dear  friend,  that  you  English 
do  not  promise,  and  then  forget.  No ;  he  says, '  I  will  befriend 
this  poor  devil  of  a  Kirski ;'  and  here  he  comes  inquiring  after  him. 
Now  I  must  answer  the  letter;  you  will  accompany  me.  Monsieur 
Edouarts  ?    Ten  minutes  in  my  little  room,  and  it  is  done." 


KIR8KI.  205 

So  the  two  walked  away  together.  This  Edwards  who  now 
accompanied  (.'ahibressa  was  a  iiiaii  of  about  thirty,  who  looked 
youiiijer;  tall,  fair,  with  a  slight  stoop,  a  large  forehead,  and  blue 
eyes  that  stared  near-sightedly  through  spectacles.  The  ordinary 
expression  of  his  face  was  grave  even  to  melancholy,  but  his  oc- 
casional smile  was  humorous,  and  when  he  laughed  the  laugh  was 
soft  and  light  like  that  of  a  child,  llis  knowledge  of  modern 
lano-uages  was  considered  to  be  almost  unrivalled,  though  he  had 
travelled  but  little. 

When,  in  this  little  room,  Calabressa  had  at  length  finished  bis 
letter  and  dusted  it  over  with  sand,  he  was  not  at  all  loath  to 
show  it  to  this  master  of  modern  speech.  Calabressa  was  proud 
of  his  French ;  and  if  he  would  himself  have  acknowledged  that 
it  was  perhaps  here  and  there  of  doubtful  idiom  and  of  phonetic 
spelling,  would  he  not  have  claimed  for  it  that  it  was  fluent,  in- 
cisive, and  ornate  ? 

"  My  valued  friend,  it  is  not  permitted  me  to  answer  your 
questions  in  precise  terms;  but  he  to  whom  you  have  had  the 
goodness  to  extend  your  bountiful  protection  is  well  and  safe, 
and  under  my  own  care.  No  ;  he  goes  not  back  to  Russia.  His 
thoughts  are  different;  his  madness  travels  in  other  directions; 
it  is  no  longer  revenge,  it  is  adoration  and  gratitude  that  his 
heart  holds.  And  you,  can  you  not  guess  who  has  worked  the 
miracle?  Think  of  this:  you  have  a  poor  wretch  who  is  dis- 
tracted by  injuries  and  suffering;  he  goes  away  alone  into  Eu- 
rope; he  is  buffeted  about  with  the  winds  of  hunger  and  thirst 
and  cold ;  he  cannot  speak ;  he  is  like  a  dog — a  wild  beast  that 
people  drive  away  from  their  door.  And  all  at  once  some  one 
addresses  him  in  gentle  tones :  it  is  the  voice  of  an  angel  to  him  ! 
You  plough  and  harrow  the  poor  wretch's  heart  with  suffering 
and  contempt  and  hopelessness,  until  it  is  a  desert,  a  wilderness ; 
but  some  one,  by  accident,  one  day  drops  a  seed  of  kindness  into 
it,  and  behold  !  the  beautiful  flower  of  love  springing  up,  and  all 
the  man's  life  going  into  it!  Can  you  understand  —  you  who 
ought  to  understand?  Were  you  not  present  when  the  bewil- 
dered, starved,  hunted  creature  heard  that  gentle  voice  of  pity, 
like  an  angel  speaking  from  heaven?  And  if  the  beautiful  girl, 
who  will  be  the  idol  of  my  thoughts  through  my  remaining 
years,  if  she  does  not  know  that  she  has  rescued  a  human  soul 
from  despair,  you  will  tell  her  —  tell  her  from  me,  from  Caia- 


206  SUNRISE. 

bressa.  "What  would  not  Kirski  do  for  her?  you  miglit  well  aslc. 
The  patient  regards  the  physician  who  has  cured  him  with  grati- 
tude :  this  is  more  than  gratitude,  it  is  worship.  AVhat  she  has 
preserved  she  owns;  he  would  give  his  life  to  her,  to  you,  to  any 
one  whom  she  regards  with  affection.  For  myself,  I  do  not  say 
such  things;  but  she  may  count  on  me  also,  while  one  has  yet 
life.  I  am  yours,  and  hers,  Calabressa." 

The  letter  was  handed  to  Gathorne  Edwards  with  a  proud  air; 
and  he  read  it,  and  handed  it  back. 

"This  man  Kirski  is  not  so  much  of  a  savage  as  you  imagine," 
he  said.  "  He  learns  quickly,  and  forgets  nothing.  He  can  re- 
peat all  the  articles  of  membership ;  but  it  is  No.  5  that  he  is 
particularly  fond  of.  You  have  not  heard  him  go  over  it,  Cala- 
bressa  ?" 

"  I  ?     No.     He  does  not  waste  my  time  that  way." 

"  His  pronunciation,"  continued  tlie  younger  man,  with  a  smile, 
"is  rather  like  the  cracking  of  dry  twigs.  'Article  5.  Whatev- 
er punishment  may  be  decreed  against  any  Officer,  Companion, 
or  Friend  of  the  Society  may  be  vicariously  borne  by  any  other 
OflBcer,  Companion,  or  Friend  who  of  his  own  full  and  free  con- 
sent acts  as  substitute ;  the  original  offender  becoming  thereby 
redeemed,  acquitted,  and  released.'  And  then  he  invariably  adds  : 
'Whv  not  make  me  of  some  use?  To  myself  my  life  is  noth- 
ing.' '"' 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  tapping  at  the  door. 

"  It  is  himself,"  said  Edwards. 

"  Enter  !"  Calabressa  called  out. 

The  man  who  now  came  into  the  room  was  a  very  different 
looking  person  from  the  wild,  unkempt  creature  who  had  con- 
fronted Natalie  Lind  in  Curzon  Street.  The  voluminous  red 
beard  and  mustache  had  been  cropped;  he  wore  the  clothes  of 
a  decent  workman,  with  a  foreign  touch  here  and  there ;  he  was 
submissive  and  docile  in  look. 

"  Well,  where  have  you  been,  my  friend  ?"  Calabressa  said  to 
him  in  Italian. 

Kirski  glanced  at  Gathorne  Edwards,  and  began  to  speak  to 
him  in  Russian. 

"Will  you  explain  for  mc,  little  father?  I  have  been  to  many 
churches." 


KIRSKI.  207 

"  The  police  will  not  suspect  Lim  if  he  goes  there,"  suiJ  Cala- 
brcssa,  laiiL^liini;. 

"And  to  tiic  shops  in  the  Piazza  San  Marco,  where  the  pict- 
ures are  of  the  saints." 

"Well?" 

"  Little  father,  I  can  find  no  one  of  the  saints  so  beautiful  as 
that  one  in  Enoland  that  the  Master  Calabressa  tnows." 

Calabressa  lauii'hcd  a^'ain. 

"  Allons,  nion  grand  enfant!  Toll  him  that  if  it  is  only  a  like- 
ness he  is  hunting  for,  I  can  show  him  one." 

With  that  he  took  out  from  his  breast-pocket  a  small  pocket- 
book,  opened  it,  found  a  certain  photograph,  and  put  it  on  the 
table,  shoving  it  over  toward  Kirski.  The  dim-eyed  Russian  did 
not  dare  to  touch  it ;  but  he  stooped  over  it,  and  he  put  one 
trembling  hand  on  each  side  of  it,  as  if  he  would  concentrate 
the  light,  and  gazed  at  this  portrait  of  Natalie  Lind  until  he 
could  see  nothing  at  all  for  the  tears  that  came  into  his  eyes. 
Then  he  rose  abruptly,  and  said  something  rapidly  to  Edwards. 

"He  says,  'Take  it  away,  or  you  will  make  me  a  thief.  It  is 
worth  more  than  all  the  diamonds  in  the  world.' " 

Calabressa  did  not  laugh  this  time.  He  regarded  the  man  with 
a  look  in  which  there  was  quite  as  much  pity  as  curiosity. 

"  The  poor  devil !"  he  said.  "  Tell  him  I  will  ask  the  beautiful 
saint  whom  he  worships  so  to  send  him  a  portrait  of  herself  with 
her  own  hands.  I  will.  She  will  do  as  much  as  that  for  her 
friend  Calabressa." 

This  had  scarcely  been  translated  to  Kirski  when,  in  his  sud- 
den  gratitude,  he  caught  Calabressa's  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"Tell  him,  also,"  Calabressa  said,  good-naturedly,  "that  if  he 
is  hungry  before  dinner-time  there  is  sausage  and  bread  and 
beer  in  the  cupboard.  But  he  nuist  not  stir  out  till  we  come 
back.     Allons,  mon  bon  camarade  I" 

Calabressa  lit  another  cigarette,  and  the  two  companions  sal- 
lied forth.  They  stepped  into  a  gondola,  and  presently  they 
were  being  borne  swiftly  over  the  plain  of  light -green  water. 
By-and-by  they  plunged  into  a  varied  and  picturesque  mass  of 
shipping,  and  touched  land  again  in  front  of  a  series  of  stores. 
The  gondola  was  ordered  to  await  their  return. 

Calabressa  passed  without  question  through  the  lower  floor  of 
this  particular  building,  where  the  people  were  busy  with  barrels 


208  SUNRISE. 

of  flour,  and  led  the  way  up-stairs  until  he  stopped  at  a  certain 
door.  He  knocked  thrice  and  entered.  There  was  a  siuall,  dark 
man  seated  at  a  table,  apparently  engaged  with  some  bills  of 
lading. 

"  You  are  punctual.  Brother  Calabrcssa." 

"  Your  time  is  valuable,  Brother  Granaglia.  Let  me  present 
to  you  my  comrade  Signor  Edouarts,  of  whom  I  wrote  to  you." 

The  sallow-faced  little  man  with  the  tired  look  bowed  courte- 
ously, begged  his  guests  to  be  seated,  and  pushed  toward  them  a 
box  of  ciu'arettes. 

"  Now,  my  Calabressa,"  said  he,  "  to  the  point.  As  you  guess, 
I  am  pressed  for  time.  Seven  days  hence  will  find  me  in  Mos- 
cow." 

"  In  Moscow  !"  exclaimed  Calabressa.     "  You  dare  not !" 

Granaglia  waved  his  hand  a  couple  of  inches. 

"Do  not  protest.  It  may  be  your  turn  to-morrow.  And  my 
good  friend  Calabressa  would  find  Moscow  just  about  as  danger- 
ous for  him  as  for  me." 

"  Monsieur  le  Secretaire,  I  have  no  wish  to  try.  But  to  the 
point,  as  you  say.     May  one  ask  how  it  stands  with  Zaccatelli  ?" 

Granaglia  glanced  at  the  Englishman. 

"Of  course  he  knows  everything."  Calabressa  explained  in- 
stantly. "  IIow  otherwise  should  I  have  brought  him  with 
me?""' 

"  Well,  Zaccatelli  has  received  his  warning." 

"  Who  carried  it  ?" 

"  You  ?  You  are  the  devil !  You  thrust  vour  head  into  the 
lion's  den  !" 

The  black -eyed,  worn -faced  little  man  seemed  pleased.  An 
odd,  dry  smile  appeared  about  the  thin  lips. 

"  It  needed  no  courage  at  all,  friend  Calabressa.  His  Emi- 
nence knows  who  we  arc,  no  one  better.  The  courage  was  his. 
It  is  not  a  pleasant  thing  when  you  are  told  that  within  a  cer- 
tain given  time  you  will  be  a  dead  man ;  but  Zaccatelli  did  not 
blanch  ;  no,  he  was  very  polite  to  me.  He  paid  us  compliments. 
We  were  not  like  the  others,  Calabressa.  We  were  good  citizens 
and  Christians ;  even  his  Holiness  might  be  induced  to  lend  an 
ear ;  why  should  not  the  Church  and  we  be  friends?" 

Calabressa  burst  out  laughing. 


KIRSKI,  209 

"  Surely  evil  days  have  fallen  on  the  Pope,  Brotlicr  Granai,'lia, 
when  one  of  his  own  Cardinals  proposes  that  he  should  at  last 
couMtenaiR-e  a  secret  society.  But  his  Eminence  was  mad  with 
fear — was  it  not  so  ?  lie  wanted  to  win  you  over  with  promises, 
eh?  Idle  words,  and  no  more.  He  feeds  you  on  wind, and  sends 
von  awav,  and  returns  to  his  mistresses  and  his  wines  and  his 
fountains  of  perfume  ?" 

"  Not  quite  so,"  said  the  other,  with  the  same  dry  smile.  "Uis 
Eminence,  as  I  say  to  you,  knows  as  well  as  any  one  in  Europe 
who  and  what  we  are,  and  what  is  our  power.  The  day  after  I 
called  on  him  with  my  little  message,  what  does  he  do — of  his 
own  free-will,  mind  you — but  send  back  the  daughter  of  old  De 
Bedros  to  her  home,  with  a  pledge  to  her  father  that  she  shall 
have  a  dowry  of  ten  thousand  lire  when  she  marries.  The  father 
is  pleased,  the  daughter  is  not.  She  sits  and  cries.  She  talks  of 
herself  getting  at  him  with  a  stiletto." 

He  took  a  cigarette,  and  accepted  a  light  from  Calabressa. 

"  Further,"  he  continued,  "  his  Eminence  is  so  kind  as  to  pro- 
pose to  give  the  Council  an  annual  subsidy  from  his  own  purse 
of  thirty  thousand  lire." 

"  Thirty  thousand  lire  1"  Calabressa  exclaimed. 

But  at  this  point  even  Granaglia  began  to  laugh. 

"Yes,  yes,  my  friend,"  he  said,  apparently  apostrophizing  the 
absent  Cardinal.  "  You  know,  then,  who  we  are,  and  you  do  not 
wish  to  give  up  all  your  pleasures.  No ;  we  are  to  become  the 
good  boy  among  secret  societies ;  we  are  to  have  the  blessing  of 
the  Pope ;  we  are  to  fight  Prince  Bismarck  for  you.  Prince  Bis- 
marck has  all  his  knights  and  his  castles  on  the  board;  but  what 
are  they  against  an  angelic  host  of  bishops  and  some  millions 
of  comnutn  pawns  ?  Prince  Bismarck  wishes  to  plunge  Europe 
again  into  war.  The  Church,  with  this  tremendous  engine  with- 
in reach,  says,  No.  Do  you  wish  to  find  eight  men — eight  men, 
at  the  least — out  of  every  company  of  every  regiment  in  all  your 
corps  iVarmie  throw  down  their  rifles  at  the  first  onset  of  battle  ? 
You  will  shoot  them  for  mutiny?  My  dear  fellow,  you  cannot; 
the  enemy  is  upon  you.  With,  eight  men  out  of  each  company 
throwing  down  their  weapons,  and  determined  either  to  desert 
or  die,  how  on  earth  can  you  fight  at  all  ?  AVell,  then,  good  Bis- 
marck, you  had  better  make  your  peace  with  the  Church,  and  re- 
scind those  Falk  laws.     AVhat  do  you  think  of  that  scheme,  Cala- 


210  SUNRISE. 

bressa  ?  It  was  ingenious,  was  it  not,  to  have  come  into  tlie  head 
of  a  man  under  sentence  of  death  ?" 

"But  the  thirty  thousand  lire.  Brother  Granaglia.  It  is  a  tre- 
mendous bribe." 

"  The  Council  does  not  accept  bribes,  Brother  Calabressa,"  said 
the  other,  coldly. 

"  It  is  decided,  then,  that  the  decree  remains  to  be  executed?" 

"  I  know  nothing  to  the  contrary.  But  if  you  wish  to  know 
for  certain,  you  must  seek  the  Council.     They  are  at  Naples." 

He  pulled  an  ink-bottle  before  him,  and  made  a  motion  with 
his  forefinger. 

"  You  understand  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  Calabressa  answered.  "  And  I  will  go  on  to  Na- 
ples, Brother  Granaglia;  for  I  have  with  me  one  who  I  think  will 
carry  out  the  wishes  of  the  Council  effectively,  so  far  as  his  Emi- 
nence the  Cardinal  is  concerned." 

"  Who  is  he  ?"  said  the  other,  but  with  no  great  interest. 

*'  Yakov  Kirski.     lie  is  a  Russian." 


CHAPTER  XXYIII. 

A    CLIMAX. 


It  was  a  momentous  decision  that  George  Brand  had  to  arrive 
at;  and  yet  he  scarcely  seemed  to  be  aware  of  it.  The  man  had 
changed  so  much  during  these  past  six  months. 

"Do  you  know,  Evelyn,"  he  was  saying  to  his  friend,  on  the 
very  evening  on  which  his  answer  was  to  be  given  to  Ferdinand 
Lind,  "  I  am  beginning  to  look  on  that  notion  of  my  going  to 
America  with  anything  but  dislike.  Rather  the  opposite,  indeed. 
I  should  like  to  get  rid  of  a  lot  of  old  associations,  and  start  in  a 
new  and  wider  field.  With  another  life  to  lead,  don't  you  want 
another  sort  of  world  to  live  it  in  ?" 

Lord  Evelyn  regarded  him.  No  one  had  observed  with  a 
closer  interest  the  gradual  change  that  had  come  over  this  old 
friend  of  his.  And  he  was  proud  of  it,  too ;  for  had  it  not  been 
partly  of  his  doing? 

"  One  does  not  breathe  free  air  here,"  Brand  continued,  rather 
absently — as  if  his  mental  vision  was  fixed  on  tlie  greater  spaces 


A    CLIMAX,  211 

beyond  the  seas.  "With  a  new  sort  of  life  beginning,  wouldn't 
it  be  better  to  start  it  under  new  conditions — feeling  yourself  un- 
hampered— with  nothing  around  you  to  disturb  even  tlie  foolish- 
ness of  your  dreams  and  hopes  ?  Then  you  could  work  away  at 
your  best,  leaving  the  result  to  time." 

"  I  know  perfectly  what  all  that  means,"  Lord  Evelyn  said. 
"You  are  anxious  to  get  away  from  Lind.  You  believe  in  your 
work,  but  you  don't  like  to  be  associated  with  him." 

"  Perhaps  I  know  a  little  more  than  you,  Evelyn,"  said  Brand, 
gently,  "  of  Lind's  relation  to  the  Society.  Ue  does  not  repre- 
sent it  to  me  at  all.  He  is  only  one  of  its  servants,  like  ourselves. 
But  don't  let  us  talk  about  him." 

"  You  must  talk  about  him,"  Lord  Evelyn  said,  as  he  pulled 
out  his  watch.  "  It  is  now  seven.  At  eight  you  go  to  the  initia- 
tion of  Molyneux,  and  you  have  promised  to  give  Lind  his  answer 
to-night.     Well  ?" 

Brand  was  playing  idly  with  a  pocket-pencil.  After  a  minute 
or  two,  he  said, 

"  I  promised  Xatalie  to  consider  this  thing  without  any  refer- 
ence to  her  whatever — that  I  would  decide  just  as  if  there  was 
no  possibility  of  her  becoming  my  wife.  I  promised  that;  but 
it  is  hard  to  do,  Evelyn.  I  have  tried  to  imagine  my  never  hav- 
ing seen  her,  and  that  I  had  been  led  into  this  affair  solely 
through  you.  Then  1  do  think  that  if  you  had  come  to  me  and 
said  that  my  giving  up  every  penny  I  possess  would  forward  a 
good  work — would  do  indirect  benefit  to  a  large  number  of  peo- 
ple, and  so  forth — I  do  think  I  could  have  said, '  All  right,  Eve- 
lyn ;  take  it.'  I  never  cared  much  for  money ;  I  fancy  I  could 
get  on  pretty  well  on  a  sovereign  a  week.  I  say  that  if  you  had 
come  to  me  with  this  request — " 

"  Precisely,"  Lord  Evelyn  said,  quickly.  "  You  would  have 
said  yes,  if  I  had  come  to  you.  But  because  it  is  Lind,  whom 
you  distrust,  you  fall  away  from  the  licight  of  self-sacrifice,  and 
regard  the  proposal  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  N\'aldegrave 
Club.  Mind  you,  I  am  not  counselling  you  one  way  or  the  other. 
I  am  only  pointing  out  to  you  that  it  is  your  dislike  of  Lind  that 
prevents  your  doing  what  you  otherwise  would  have  done." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  other,  boldly.  "  Have  I  not  reason  to 
distrust  him  i  IIow  can  I  explain  his  conduct  and  his  implied 
threats  e.\cept  on  the  supposition  that  he  has  been  merely  play- 


212  SL'NRISE. 

ing  with  me,  as  far  as  his  daughter  is  concerned;  and  that  as 
soon  as  I  had  handed  over  this  property  I  should  find  it  out? 
Oh,  it  is  a  very  pretty  sclieme  altogether  !  This  heap  of  Eng- 
lish money  transferred  to  the  treasury ;  Lind  at  length  achieving 
his  ambition  of  being  put  on  the  Council ;  Natalie  carried  off  to 
Italy;  and  myself  granted  the  honor  of  stepping  into  Lind's 
shoes  in  Lisle  Street.  On  the  other  hand  :  '  Refuse,  and  we  pack 
you  off  to  America.'  Now,  you  know,  Evelyn,  one  does  not  like 
to  be  threatened  into  anything  T' 

"  Then  you  have  decided  to  say,  No  ?" 

He  did  not  answer  for  a  second  or  two  ;  when  he  did,  his  man- 
ner was  quite  changed. 

"  I  rather  tliink  I  know  wliat  both  you  and  Natalie  would 
have  me  do,  although  you  won't  say  so  explicitly.  And  if  you 
and  she  had  come  to  me  with  this  proposal,  do  you  think  there 
would  have  been  any  difficulty  ?  I  should  have  been  satisfied  if 
she  had  put  her  hand  in  mine,  and  said,  '  Thank  you.'  Then  I 
should  have  reminded  her  that  she  was  sacrificing  something  too." 

He  relapsed  into  silence  again ;  Lord  Evelyn  was  vaguely  con- 
scious that  the  minutes  were  passing  by,  and  that  his  friend  seem- 
ed as  far  off  as  ever  from  any  decision. 

"  You  remember  the  old-fashioned  rose-garden,  Evelyn  ?" 

"  At  the  Beeches  ?     Yes." 

"  Don't  you  think  Natalie  would  like  the  view  from  that  side 
of  the  house  ?  And  if  she  chose  that  side,  I  was  thinking  of 
having  a  conservatory  built  all  the  length  of  the  rooms,  with  steps 
opening  out  into  the  rose-garden.  She  could  go  out  there  for  a 
stroll  of  a  mornino-." 

So  these  had  been  his  dreams. 

"  If  I  go  to  America,"  he  said  presently,  "  I  should  expect  you 
to  look  after  the  old  place  a  little  bit.  You  might  take  your  sis- 
ters there  occasionally,  and  turn  them  loose;  it  wants  a  woman's 
hand  here  and  there.  Mrs.  Alleyne  would  put  you  up  all  right; 
and  of  course  I  should  send  Waters  down,  and  give  up  those 
rooms  in  Buckingham  Street." 

"  But  I  cannot  imagine  your  going  to  America,  somehow," 
Lord  Evelyn  said.     "  Surely  there  is  plenty  for  you  to  do  here." 

"  I  will  say  this  of  Lind,  that  he  is  not  an  idle  talker.  What 
he  says  he  means.  Besides,  Molyneux  can  take  up  my  work  in 
the  Nortli ;  he  is  the  very  man." 


A    CLIMAX.  213 

Again  silence.     It  was  now  half-past  seven. 

"I  wisli,  tliouf,fli,  it  liad  been  somctliint^  more  excitiiiir,"  Brand 
said.  "I  sbuuld  not  have  niindt-d  liaving  a  turn  at  the  Syrian 
business;  I  am  not  much  afraid  of  risking  my  neck.  There  is 
not  much  danger  in  Philadelj)liia." 

"  But  look  here,  Brand,"  said  Lord  Evelyn,  regarding  him  at- 
tentively. "You  are  speaking  with  great  equanimity  about  your 
going  to  America ;  possibly  you  might  like  the  change  well  enough  ; 
but  do  I  understand  you  that  you  are  prepared  to  go  alone  ?" 

Brand  looked  up ;  he  understood  what  was  meant. 

"  If  I  am  ordered — yes." 

lie  held  out  his  right  hand  ;  on  the  third  finger  there  was  a 
massive  gold  ring — a  plain  hoop,  without  any  motto  or  design 
whatever. 

"  There,"  said  he,  "  is  the  first  ring  I  ever  wore.  It  was  given 
to  me  this  afternoon,  to  remind  me  of  a  promise  ;  and  that  prom- 
ise is  to  me  more  binding  than  a  hundred  oaths." 

He  rose  with  a  sigh. 

"Ah,  well,  Evelyn,  whatever  happens  we  will  not  complain. 
There  have  been  compensations." 

"But  you  have  not  told  me  what  answer  you  mean  to  give  to 
Lind." 

"Suppose  I  wait  until  I  see  him  before  deciding?" 

"  Then  you  will  say.  No.  You  have  allowed  your  distrust  of 
him  to  become  a  sort  of  mania,  and  the  moment  you  see  him  the 
mere  sight  of  him  will  drive  you  into  antagonism." 

"  I  tell  you  what  I  wish  I  could  do,  Evelyn,"  said  the  other, 
lauo-hin<r:  "I  wish  I  could  turn  over  cvcrvthin<;  I  have  got  to 
you,  and  escape  scot-free  to  America  and  start  my  own  life  free 
and  unencumbered." 

"And  alone?" 

His  face  grew  grave  again, 

"  There  is  nothing  possible  else  ?"  said  he. 

It  was  nearly  eight  o'clock  when  he  left.  As  he  walked  along 
Piccadillv,  a  clear  and  jjolden  twili<;ht  was  shining  over  the  trees 
in  the  Green  Park.  All  around  him  was  the  roar  of  the  London 
streets ;  but  it  was  not  that  that  he  heard.  "Was  it  not  rather 
the  sound  of  a  soft,  low  voice,  and  the  silvery  notes  of  the  zither? 
His  memory  acted  as  a  sea-shell,  and  brought  him  an  echo  from 
other  days  and  other  climes. 


214  SUNRISE. 

"  Behold  the  beautiful  night — the  wind  sleeps  drowsily — the  silent  shores 
slumber  in  the  dark: 

"  Sul  placido  elemento 
Vien  meco  a  navigar ! 

"  The  soft  wind  moves — as  it  stirs  among  the  leaves — it  moves  and  dies — 
among  the  murmur  of  the  water : 

"  Lascia  I'amico  tetto, 
Vien  meco  a  navlgar ! 

"  Now  on  the  spacious  mantle — of  the  already  darkening  heavens— see,  oh 
the  shining  wonder — how  the  white  stars  tremble : 

"  Sul  I'onde  addormentate 
Vien  meco  a  navigar !" 

This  was  the  voice  that  he  heard  amidst  the  roar  of  the  London 
streets.  Would  he  hear  it  far  away  on  the  wide  Atlantic,  with 
the  shores  of  England  hidden  behind  the  mists  of  rain?  To- 
night was  to  decide  what  the  future  of  his  life  was  to  be. 

If  Natalie  had  appeared  at  this  moment,  and  said  to  him, 
"  Dearest,  let  it  be  as  my  father  wishes ;"  or  if  Lord  Evelyn  had 
frankly  declared  to  him  that  it  was  his  duty  to  surrender  his  pos- 
sessions to  this  Society  to  which  he  had  devoted  his  life,  there 
would  have  been  not  a  moment's  hesitation.  But  now  he  was 
going  to  see  a  man  whom  he  suspected  and  was  inclined  to  hate, 
and  his  nature  began  to  harden.  It  would  be  a  question  between 
one  man  of  the  world  and  another.  Sentiment  would  be  put 
aside.  He  would  no  longer  be  played  with.  A  man  should  be 
master  of  his  own  affairs. 

This  was  what  he  said  to  himself.  But  he  had  quite  forgotten 
his  determination  to  consider  this  matter  as  if  no  Natalie  existed  ; 
and  his  resolve  to  exclude  sentiment  altogether  did  not  interfere 
with  the  fact  that  always,  if  unconsciouslj^  there  remained  in  his 
mind  a  certain  picture  he  had  been  dreaming  a  good  deal  about 
of  late.  It  was  a  picture  of  an  old-fashioned  rose-garden  in  the 
light  of  an  English  summer  morning,  with  a  young  wife  walk- 
ing there,  herself  taller  and  fairer  than  any  flower.  Would  she 
sing,  in  her  gladness,  the  songs  of  other  lands,  to  charm  the  sweet 
English  air?  There  was  that  one  about  0  dolce  Naiioli! — o  suol 
heato  ! — 

When  he  got  to  Lisle  Street,  every  one  had  arrived  except 
Molyneux  himself.  Mr.  Lind  was  gravely  polite  to  him.  Of 
course  no  mention  could  then  be  made  about  private  affairs ;  the 


A    CLIMAX.  215 

talk  rjoini^  on  was  all  about  the  East,  and  how  certain  populations 
woio  fariiii;. 

Presently  the  pink-faced  farmer-agitator  was  ushered  in,  look- 
ing a  little  bit  alarmed.  But  this  frightened  look  speedily  dis- 
appeared, and  gave  place  to  one  of  mild  astonishment,  as  he  ap- 
peared to  recognize  the  faces  of  one  or  two  of  those  in  the  room. 
The  business  of  the  evening,  so  far  as  the  brief  formalities  were 
concerned,  was  speedily  got  over,  and  five  of  the  members  of  the 
small  assembly  immediately  left. 

"Now,  Mr.  Molyneux,"  said  Ferdinand  Lind,  pleasantly,  "Mr. 
Brand  and  I  have  some  small  private  matters  to  talk  over :  will 
you  excuse  us  if  we  leave  you  for  a  few  minutes?  Here  are 
some  articles  of  our  association  which  you  may  look  over  in  the 
mean  time.     May  I  trouble  you  to  follow  me,  Mr.  Brand?" 

Brand  followed  him  rtito  an  inner  and  smaller  room,  and  sat 
down. 

"  You  said  you  would  have  your  mind  made  up  to-day  with 
regard  to  the  proposal  I  put  before  you,"  Mr.  Lind  observed,  with 
a  matter-of-fact  air,  as  he  drew  in  his  chair  to  the  small  table. 

Brand  simply  nodded,  and  said  "  Yes."  lie  was  measuring 
his  man.     lie  thought  his  manner  was  a  good  deal  too  suave. 

"  But  allow  me  to  say,  my  dear  INIr.  Brand,  that,  as  far  as  I  am 
concerned,  there  is  no  hurry.  Have  you  given  yourself  time? 
It  is  a  matter  of  moment ;  one  should  consider." 

"  I  have  considered." 

His  tone  was  firm  :  one  would  have  thought  he  had  never  had 
any  hesitation  at  all.  But  his  decision  had  not  been  definitely 
arrived  at  until,  some  quarter  of  an  hour  before,  he  had  met  Fer- 
dinand Lind  face  to  face. 

"I  may  say  at  once  that  I  prefer  to  remain  in  my  present 
grade." 

He  was  watching  Lind  as  he  spoke.  There  was  a  slight, 
scarcely  perceptible,  movement  of  the  eyebrows;  that  was  all. 
The  quiet  courtesy  of  his  manner  remained  undisturbed. 

"  That  is  your  decision,  then  ?"  he  said,  just  as  if  some  trifling 
matter  had  been  arranged. 

"Perhaps  I  need  not  bother  you  with  my  reasons,"  Brand 
continued,  speaking  slowly  and  with  precision,  "  but  there  are 
several." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  have  given  the  subject  serious  consider- 


216  SUNKISE. 

ation,"  said  Mr.  Lind,  witliout  expressing  any  further  interest  or 
curiosity. 

Now  this  was  not  at  all  what  George  Brand  wanted.  He  want- 
ed to  liave  his  suspicions  allayed  or  confirmed.  He  wanted  to 
let  this  man  know  how  he  read  the  situation. 

"  One  reason  I  may  as  well  name  to  you,  Mr.  Lind,"  said  he, 
being  forced  to  speak  more  plainly.  "  If  I  were  to  marry,  I 
should  like  to  give  my  wife  a  proper  home.  I  should  not  like 
her  to  marry  a  pauper — one  dependent  on  the  complaisance  of 
other  people.  And  really  it  has  seemed  to  me  strange  that  you, 
with  your  daughter's  future,  your  daughter's  interests  to  think 
of,  should  have  made  this  proposal — " 

Lind  interrupted  him  with  a  slight  deprecatory  motion  of  the 
hand. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  he.  "  Let  us  confine  ourselves  to  business, 
if  you  please." 

"  I  presume  it  is  a  man's  business  to  provide  for  the  future  of 
his  wife,"  said  Brand,  somewhat  hotly,  his  pride  beginning  to 
kick  against  this  patronizing  graciousness  of  manner. 

"  I  must  beg  of  you,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Mr.  Lind,  with  the  same 
calm  courtesy,  "  to  keep  private  intei'csts  and  projects  entirely 
outside  of  this  matter,  which  relates  to  the  Society  alone,  and 
your  duty,  and  the  wishes  of  those  with  whom  you  are  asso- 
ciated. You  have  decided  ? — very  well.  I  am  sorry ;  but  you  are 
Avithin  your  right." 

"How  can  you  talk  like  that?"  said  Brand,  bluntly.  "Sorry 
that  your  daughter  is  not  to  marry  a  beggar?" 

"I  must  decline  to  have  Natalie  introduced  into  this  subject  in 
any  way  whatever,"  said  Mr.  Lind. 

"Let  us  drop  the  subject,  then,"  said  Brand,  in  a  friendly  way, 
for  he  was  determined  to  have  some  further  enlightenment. 
"  Now  about  Natalie.  May  I  ask  you  plainly  if  you  have  any 
objection  to  a  marriage  between  her  and  myself  ?" 

The  answer  was  prompt  and  emphatic. 

"  I  have  every  objection.  I  have  said  before  that  it  would  be 
inexpedient  in  many  ways.     It  is  not  to  be  thought  of." 

Brand  was  not  surprised  by  this  refusal ;  he  had  expected  it ; 
he  had  put  the  question  as  a  matter  of  form. 

"  Now  one  other  question,  Mr.  Lind,  and  I  shall  be  satisfied," 
said  he,  watching  the  face  of  the  man  opposite  him  with  a  keen 


A    CLIMAX.  217 

scrutiny.     "  Was  it  ever  your  intention,  at  any  time,  to  give 
your  cDiisoiit  to  our  marriage,  in  any  circumstances  wliatover  ?" 

Ferdinand  Lind  was  an  admirable  actur. 

"  Is  it  worth  wliile  discussing  imaginary  things — possibilities 
only  ?"  he  said,  carelessly. 

"  Because,  you  see,"  continued  Brand,  who  was  not  to  be  driven 
from  his  point,  "any  plain  and  ordinary  person,  looking  from  the 
outside  at  the  whole  atTair,  might  imagine  that  you  had  been 
merely  temporizing  with  me,  neither  giving  nor  refusing  your 
consent,  until  I  had  handed  over  this  money  ;  and  that,  as  you 
had  never  intended  to  let  your  daughter  marry,  that  was  the  rea- 
son why  you  did  not  care  whether  I  retained  a  penny  of  my  own 
property  or  not." 

Lind  did  not  flinch  fur  an  instant ;  nor  was  there  the  slightest 
trace  of  surprise,  or  annoyance,  or  resentment  in  his  look.  He 
rose  and  pushed  b^xck  his  chair. 

"  Suppose  we  let  outsiders  think  what  they  please,  Mr.  Brand," 
said  he,  with  absolute  composure.  "  We  have  more  serious  mat- 
ters to  attend  to." 

Brand  rose  also.  He  guessed  what  was  coming,  and  he  had 
nerved  himself  to  face  it.  The  whole  course  of  this  man's  action 
was  now  as  clear  to  him  as  noonday. 

"  I  have  been  considering  further  the  suggestion  I  mentioned 
to  you  the  other  day,  that  you  should  go  over  to  some  of  the  big 
American  cities,"  said  Mr.  Lind,  almost  with  an  indifferent' air,  as 
he  turned  over  some  papers.  "We  are  strong  there;  you  will 
find  plenty  of  friends;  but  what  is  wanted  is  cohesion,  arrange- 
ment, co-operation.  Now  you  say  yourself  this  Mr.  Molyneux 
would  be  an  admirable  successor  to  you  in  the  North  P 

"  None  better,"  said  Brand.  This  sentence  of  banishment  had 
been  foreseen  ;  he  knew  how  to  encounter  it  when  it  came. 

"I  think,  on  the  whole,  it  would  be  advisable  then.  When 
could  you  go  r ' 

"  I  could  start  to-night,"  he  said.  But  then,  despite  himself, 
a  blu§h  of  embarrassment  mounted  to  his  forehead,  and  he  added 
quickly,  "  No  ;  not  to-night.     The  day  after  to-morrow." 

"There  is  no  need  for  any  such  great  hurry,"  said  Mr.  Lind, 
with  his  complaisant  smile.  "You  will  want  much  direction, 
many  letters.  Come,  shall  we  join  your  friend  in  the  other 
room  ?" 

10 


218  SUNRISE. 

The  two  men,  apparently  on  the  best  of  terms,  went  back  to 
]\Iolyneux,  and  the  talk  became  general.  George  Brand,  as  he 
sat  there,  kept  his  right  hand  shut  tight,  that  so  he  could  press 
the  ring  that  Natalie  had  given  him ;  and  when  he  thouglit  of 
America,  it  was  almost  with  a  sense  of  relief.  She  would  ap- 
prove; he  would  not  betray  his  promise  to  her.  Bat  if  only 
that  one  moment  were  over  in  which  he  should  have  to  bid  her 
farewell ! 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A    GOOD-NIGHT    MESSAGE. 


Brand  had  nerved  himself  for  that  interview  ;  he  had  de- 
termined to  betray  neither  surprise  nor  concern ;  he  was  pre- 
pared for  the  worst.  When  it  was  intimated  to  him  that  hence- 
forth his  life  was  to  be  lived  out  beyond  the  seas,  he  had  ap- 
peared to  take  it  as  a  matter  of  course.  Face  to  face  with  his 
enemy,  he  would  utter  no  protest.  Then,  had  he  not  solemnly 
promised  to  Natalie  that  nothing  in  the  world  should  tempt  him 
from  his  allegiance?  Why  should  he  shrink  from  going  to 
America,  or  prefer  London  to  Philadelphia  ?  lie  had  entered  into 
a  service  that  took  no  heed  of  such  things. 

But  when  he  had  parted  from  Lind  and  Molyneux,  and  got 
out  into  the  sombre  glare  of  the  night- world  of  London,  and 
when  there  was  no  further  need  for  that  forced  composure,  he 
began  more  clearly  to  recognize  his  position,  and  his  heart  grew 
heavy.  This,  then,  was  the  end  of  those  visions  of  loving  com- 
panionship and  constant  and  sustaining  sympathy  with  which  he 
had  dared  to  fill  the  future.  He  had  thought  little  of  anything 
that  might  be  demanded  from  him  so  long  as  he  could  anticipate 
Natalie's  approval,  and  be  rewarded  with  a  single  glance  of  grati- 
tude from  the  proud,  dark,  beautiful  eyes.  What  mattered  it  to 
him  what  became  of  himself,  what  circumstances  surrounded 
them,  so  long  as  he  and  she  were  together?  But  now  a  more 
terrible  sacrifice  than  any  he  had  dreamed  of  had  to  be  made. 
The  lady  of  love  whom  the  Pilgrims  had  sworn  to  serve  was 
proving  herself  inexorable  indeed  : 

" — Is  she  a  queen, having  great  gifts  to  give? 
— Yea,  these;  that  whoso  hath  seen  her  shall  not  live 


A    (JOOU-MUHT    MESSAUE,  219 

Except  to  serve  her  sorrowing,  with  strange  puin, 
Travail  and  bloocJshcddiiig  and  l.-itterer  tears; 
And  when  siie  bids  die  lie  shall  surely  die. 
And  he  shall  leave  all  things  under  the  sky, 
And  go  forth  naked  under  sun  and  rain, 

And  work  and  wait  and  watch  out  all  his  years." 

AVhcn  Lord  Evelyn  had  asked  liiiu  whether  he  was  prepared 
to  go  to  Aiueriea  ulone^  lie  had  chisped  the  ring  tliat  Natalie  had 
given  him,  and  answered  "  Yes."  But  that  was  as  a  matter  of 
theory.  It  was  what  he  might  do,  in  certain  possible  circum- 
stances. Now  that  he  had  to  face  the  reality,  and  bethink  liim 
of  the  necessity  of  taking  Natalie's  hand  for  the  last  time,  his 
heart  sunk  within  him. 

He  walked  on  blindly  through  the  busy  streets,  seeing  nothing 
around  him.  Ills  memory  was  going  over  the  most  trivial  inci- 
dents connected  with  Natalie,  as  if  every  look  of  hers,  every  word 
she  had  uttered,  was  now  become  something  inexpressibly  pre- 
cious. Were  there  not  many  things  he  could  carry  away  with 
him  to  the  land  beyond  the  seas?  No  distance  or  time  could  rob 
him  of  the  remembrance  of  that  night  at  the  opera — the  scent  of 
white  rose — her  look  as  she  gave  hiin  the  forget-me-nots.  Then 
the  beautiful  shining  day  as  they  drew  near  to  Dover,  and  her 
pride  about  England,  and  the  loosened  curls  of  hair  that  blew 
about  her  neck.  On  the  very  first  evening  on  which  he  had  seen 
her — she  sitting  at  the  table  and  bending  over  the  zither — her 
profile  touched  by  the  rose-tinted  light  from  the  shade  of  the 
candle — the  low,  rich  voice,  only  half  heard,  singing  the  old,  fa- 
miliar, tender  Lorelei.  lie  felt  the  very  touch  of  her  fingers  on 
his  arm  when  she  turned  to  him  with  reproving  eyes:  "/s  that 
the  way  you  answer  an  appeal  for  help?''^  That  poor  devil  of  a 
Kirski — what  had  become  of  him  ?  lie  would  find  out  from 
Reitzoi ;  and,  before  leaving  Jlngland,  would  take  care  that  some- 
thing should  be  done  for  the  luckless  outcast.  He  should  have 
cause  to  remember  all  his  life-long  that  Natalie  Liud  had  inter- 
fered in  his  behalf. 

AVithout  knowing  well  how  he  got  there.  Brand  found  himself 
in  Curzon  Street.  He  walked  on,  perhaps  with  some  vague  no- 
tion that  he  might  meet  Natalie  herself,  until  he  arrived  at  the 
house.  It  was  quite  dark  ;  there  was  no  light  in  any  of  the 
windows;  Anneli  had  not  even  lit  the  gas-jet  in  the  narrow  hall. 


220  SUNRISE. 

He  turned  away  from  the  door  that  he  felt  was  now  barred 
against  liini  forever,  and  walked  back  to  Clarges  Street. 

Lord  Evelyn  was  out ;  the  man  did  not  know  when  he  would 
be  home  again.  So  Brand  turned  away  from  that  door  also,  and 
resumed  his  aimless  wanderings,  busy  with  those  pictures  of  the 
past.  At  length  he  got  down  to  Buckingham  Street,  and  almost 
mechanically  made  his  way  toward  his  own  rooms. 

lie  had  not  reached  his  door,  however,  when  he  heard  some 
one  speaking  within. 

"I  might  have  known,"  he  said  to  himself.  "That  is  so  like 
Evelyn."^ 

It  was  indeed  Lord  Evelyn,  who  was  chatting  familiarly  with 
old  Waters.  But  the  moment  Brand  entered  he  ceased,  and  a 
look  of  anxiety,  and  even  alarm,  appeared  instantly  on  the  fine, 
sensitive,  expressive  face. 

"  What  is  the  matter.  Brand  ?     Are  you  ill  ?" 

"  No,"  said  the  other,  dropping  into  a  chair  ;  "  only  tired — and 
worried,  perhaps.  Waters,  get  me  a  biscuit  and  a  glass  of  sher- 
ry. Now,  when  I  think  of  it,  I  ought  to  feel  tired — I  have  eaten 
nothing  since  eight  o'clock  this  morning," 

Lord  Evelyn  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"  Come  off  at  once,  Brand.  We  will  go  up  to  the  Strand  and 
get  you  something  to  eat.  Gracious  goodness,  it  is  nearly  ten 
o'clock !" 

"  No,  no,  never  mind.  I  have  something  to  talk  to  you  about, 
Evelyn." 

"But  why  on  earth  had  W^aters  no  dinner  waiting  for  you?" 

"I  did  not  tell  him — I  forgot.  Never  mind;  I  will  have  some 
supper  by-and-by.  I  called  on  you,  Evelyn,  about  half  an  hour 
ago;  I  might  have  known  you  would  be  here." 

Lord  Evelyn  paused  for  a  second  or  two,  while  Waters  came 
in  and  went  out  again.     Then  he  said, 

"  I  can  tell  by  your  face.  Brand,  that  something  has  happened." 

"  Nothino-  that  I  had  not  foreseen." 

"Did  you  consent  or  refuse?" 

"  I  refused." 

"  Well  ?" 

"Then,  as  I  knew  he  would,  he  suggested  that  I  might  as  well 
get  ready  to  start  for  America  as  soon  as  possible." 

Brand  was  speaking  in  a  light  and  scornful  way ;  but  his  face 


A    GOOD-NIcriT    MESSAOK.  221 

was  careworn,  and  Iiis  eyes  kept  turning  to  tlic  windows  and 
the  dark  niglit  outside,  as  if  they  were  looking  at  something  far 
away. 

"About  Natalie?"  Lord  Evelyn  asked. 

"Oh,  he  was  frank  enough,  lie  dropped  all  tliosc  roundabout 
phrases  about  the  great  honor,  and  so  forth,  lie  was  quite  plain. 
'  Xot  to  be  thought  of.'  " 

Lord  Evelyn  remained  silent  for  some  time. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Brand,"  lie  said,  at  length  ;  and  then  he 
continued  with  some  hesitation — "Do  you  know — I  have  been 
thinking  that — that  though  it's  a  very  extreme  thing  for  a  man 
to  give  up  his  fortune — a  very  extreme  thing — I  can  quite  un- 
derstand how  the  proposal  looked  to  you  very  monstrous  at  first 
— still,  if  you  put  that  in  the  balance  as  against  a  man's  giving 
up  his  native  country  and  the  woman  whom  he  is  in  love  with — 
don't  you  see — the  happiness  of  two  people  is  of  so  much  more 
importance  than  a  sum  of  money,  however  large — " 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Brand,  interrupting  him,  "there  is  no 
such  alternative — there  never  was  any  such  alternative.  Do  you 
not  think  I  would  rather  give  up  twenty  fortunes  than  have  to 
go  and  bid  good-bye  to  Natalie  ?  It  is  not  a  question  of  money. 
1  suspected  before — I  know  now — that  Lind  never  meant  to  let 
his  dausihter  marry.  He  would  not  definitely  sav  no  to  me 
Avhile  he  thought  1  could  be  persuaded  about  this  money  busi- 
ness ;  as  soon  as  I  refused  that,  he  was  frank  and  explicit  enough. 
I  see  the  whole  thing  clearly  enough  now.  AVcll,  he  has  not  al- 
toerether  succeeded." 

His  eye  happened  to  light  on  the  ring  on  his  finger,  and  the 
frown  on  his  face  lifted  somewhat. 

"  If  I  could  only  forget  Lind ;  if  I  could  forget  why  it  was 
that  I  had  to  go  to  America,  I  should  think  far  less  of  the  pain 
of  separation.  If  I  could  go  to  Natalie,  and  say,  '  Look  at  what 
we  must  do,  for  the  sake  of  something  greater  than  our  own 
wishes  and  dreams,'  then  I  think  I  could  bid  her  good-bye  with- 
out much  faltering ;  but  when  you  know  that  it  is  unnecessary — 
that  you  are  being  made  the  victim  of  a  piece  of  personal  re- 
venge— how  can  you  look  forward  with  any  great  enthusiasm  to 
the  new  life  that  lies  before  you  ?  That  is  what  troubles  me, 
Evelyn." 

"  I  cannot  argue  the  matter  with  you,"  his  friend  said,  looking 


222  SUNRISE. 

down,  and  evidently  much  troubled  himself.  "  I  cannot  help  re- 
membering that  it  was  I  let  you  in  for  all  this — " 

"Don't  say  that,  Evelyn,"  Brand  broke  in,  quickly.  "Do  you 
think  I  would  have  it  otherwise?  Once  in  America,  I  shall  no 
doubt  forget  how  I  came  to  go  there.  I  shall  have  something 
to  do." 

"  I — I  was  going  to  say  that — that  perhaps  you  are  not  quite 
fair  to  Lind.     You  impute  motives  that  may  not  exist." 

Lord  Evelyn  flushed  a  little ;  it  was  almost  as  if  he  were  ex- 
cusing or  defending  one  he  had  no  particular  wish  to  defend; 
but  all  the  same,  with  some  hesitation,  he  continued, 

"  Consider  Lind's  position.  Mind,  your  reading  of  his  conduct 
is  only  pure  assumption.  It  is  quite  possible  that  he  would  be 
really  and  extremely  surprised  if  he  knew  that  you  fancied  he 
had  been  allowing  personal  feelings  to  sway  his  decision.  But 
suppose  this — suppose  he  is  honestly  convinced  that  you  would 
be  of  great  service  in  America.  He  has  seen  what  you  can  do  in 
the  way  of  patient  persuading  of  people.  I  know  he  has  plenty 
around  him  who  can  do  the  risky  business — men  who  have  been 
adventurous  all  their  lives — who  w^ould  like  nothing  better  than 
to  be  commissioned  to  set  up  a  secret  printing-press  next  door  to 
the  Commissary  of  Police  in  St.  Petersburg.  I  say  he  has  plenty 
of  people  like  that ;  but  very  few  who  have  persistence  and  pa- 
tience enough  to  do  what  you  have  been  doing  in  the  north  of 
England.  He  told  me  so  himself.  Very  well.  Suppose  he 
thinks  that  what  you  have  been  doing  this  man  Molyneux  can 
carry  on  ?  Suppose,  in  short,  that  if  he  had  no  daughter  at  all, 
he  would  be  anxious  to  send  you  to  the  States?" 

Brand  nodded.  There  was  no  harm  in  letting  his  friend  have 
his  theory. 

"  Very  well.  Now  suppose  that,  having  this  daughter,  he 
would  rather  not  have  her  marry.  He  says  she  is  of  great  ser- 
vice to  him  ;  and  his  wish  to  have  her  with  him  always  would 
probably  exaggerate  that  service,  unconsciously  to  himself,  if  it 
were  proposed  to  take  her  away.     That  is  only  natural." 

Brand  again  assented. 

"Very  well.  He  discovers  that  you  and  she  are  attached  to 
each  other.  Probably  he  does  not  consider  it  a  very  serious 
affair,  so  far;  but  he  knows  that  if  you  remain  in  London  it 
would  probably  become  so.     Now,  Natalie  is  a  girl  of  firm  char- 


A    GOOD-NIGHT    MESSAGE.  223 

acter ;  she  is  very  gentle,  but  slie  is  not  a  fool.  If  you  remained 
in  London  she  would  probably  inari-y  y(ju,  wliether  her  father 
liked  it  or  not,  if  she  thought  it  was  riglit.  He  knows  that;  lie 
knows  that  the  girl  is  caj^able  of  acting  on  her  own  judgment. 
Now  put  the  two  tilings  together.  Here  is  this  opportune  ser- 
vice on  which  you  can  be  sent.  That,  according  to  his  view,  will 
be  a  good  thing  in  itself;  it  will  also  elfectually  prevent  a  mar- 
riage which  he  thinks  would  be  inexpedient.  Don't  you  see  that 
there  may  be  no  personal  revenge  or  malice  in  the  whole  affair? 
He  may  consider  lie  is  acting  quite  rightly,  with  regard  to  the 
best  interests  of  everybody  concerned." 

"  I  am  sick  of  him,  ICvelyn — of  hearing  of  him — of  thinking 
of  him,"  Brand  said,  impatiently.  "Come,  let  us  talk  of  some- 
thing else.  I  wish  the  whole  business  of  starting  for  America 
were  over,  and  I  had  only  the  future  to  think  about." 

"  That  is  not  likely,"  said  Lord  Evelyn,  gently.  "  You  cannot 
cut  yourself  away  from  everything  like  that.  There  will  be  some 
memories." 

Waters  here  appeared  with  a  tray,  and  speedily  placed  on  the 
table  a  lobster,  some  oysters,  and  a  bottle  of  Chablis. 

"  There  you  are,  Evelyn  ;  have  some  supper." 

"  Xot  unless  you  have  some." 

"  By-and-b} — " 

"  No,  now." 

So  the  two  friends  drew  in  their  chairs. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  said  Lord  Evelyn — with  a  sliglit  flush, 
for  he  was  tellino;  a  lie — "  I  have  been  tliiMkinii:  for  some  time 
back  I  should  like  to  go  to  America  for  a  year  or  two.  There 
are  some  political  phases  I  should  like  to  study." 

Brand  looked  at  him. 

"  You  never  thought  of  it  before  to-night.  But  it  is  like  you 
to  think  of  it  now." 

"  Oh,  I  assure  you,"  said  the  other,  hastily,  "  tliere  are  points 
of  great  interest  in  the  political  life  of  America  that  one  could 
only  properly  study  on  the  spot — hearing  the  various  opinions, 
don't  you  know — and  seeing  how  the  things  practically  work.  I 
should  have  gone  long  before  now,  but  that  I  dreaded  the  pas- 
sage across.     When  do  you  go  ?" 

"  It  is  not  settled  yet." 

"  AVhat  line  shall  you  go  by  V 


s 


224  SUNRISE. 

"  I  dou't  know." 

Lord  Evelyn  paused  for  ;i  moiucnt;  tlicn  lie  said, 

"  I'll  go  with  you,  Brand." 

Well,  he  had  not  the  heart  even  to  protest;  for -he  thorough- 
ly understood  the  generous  friendship  that  had  prompted  such 
an  offer.  lie  might  remonstrate  afterward ;  now  he  would  not. 
On  the  contrary,  he  began  to  speak  of  his  exjierience  of  the  vari- 
ous lines ;  of  the  delight  of  the  voyage  to  any  one  not  abnormal- 
ly sensitive  to  sea-sickness ;  of  the  humors  of  the  bagmen  ;  of 
the  occupations  and  amusements  on  board;  of  dolphins,  fog-horns, 
icebergs,  rope-quoits,  grass-widows,  and  the  chances  of  poker.  It 
was  all  a  holiday  excursion,  then  ?  The  two  friends  lit  their  cigars 
and  went  back  to  their  arm-chairs.  The  tired  and  haggard  look 
on  George  Brand's  face  had  for  the  moment  been  banished. 

But  by-and-by  he  said,  rather  absently, 

"I  suppose,  hereafter,  Natalie  and  you  will  have  many  a  talk 
over  what  has  happened.  And  you  will  go  there  just  as  usual, 
and  spend  the  evening,  and  hear  her  read,  or  listen  to  her  sing- 
ing with  the  zither.  It  seems  strange.  Perhaps  she  will  be  able 
to  forget  altogether  —  to  cut  this  unhappy  episode  out  of  her 
life,  as  it  were."  Then  he  added,  as  if  speaking  to  himself,  "  No, 
she  is  not  likely  to  forget." 

Lord  Evelyn  looked  up. 

"In  the  mean  time,  docs  she  know  about  your  going?" 

"I  presume  not — not  yet.  But  I  must  see  her  and  tell  lier; 
unless,  indeed,  Lind  should  try  to  prevent  that  too.  He  might 
lay  injunctions  on  her  that  she  was  not  to  see  me  again." 

"  That  is  true,"  his  friend  said.  "  He  might  command.  But 
the  question  is  whether  she  would  obey.  I  have  known  Natalie 
Lind  longer  than  you  have.  She  is  capable  of  thinking  and  act- 
ing for  herself." 

Nothing  further  was  said  on  this  point ;  they  proceeded  to 
talk  of  other  matters.  It  was  perhaps  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after- 
ward— close  on  eleven  o'clock — that  Waters  knocked  at  the  door 
and  then  came  into  the  room. 

"  A  letter  for  you,  sir." 

A  quick  glance  at  the  envelope  startled  him, 

"  How  did  you  get  it?"  he  said,  instantly. 

"  A  girl  brought  it,  sir,  in  a  cab.  She  is  gone  again.  There 
was  no  answer,  she  said." 


A    OOOD-NIUHT    MESSAGE.  'I'lo 

AVatcrs  witlidrew.  Lrand  liastily  opened  tlic  letter,  and  read 
the  fuUowing  lines,  written  in  peiieil,  apparently  with  a  trembling 
hand: 

"  Dearest, — I  spent  this  evening  with  Madame  Potecki.  My 
fatlicr  eame  for  nie,  and  on  the  way  home  has  told  me  something 
of  what  has  occurred.  It  was  for  the  purpose  of  telling  me  that 
you  and  I  must  not  meet  again — never,  never.  My  own,  I  can- 
not allow  you  to  pass  a  single  niglit,  or  a  single  kour,  thinking 
such  a  thing  possible.  Have  I  not  promised  to  you?  When  it 
is  your  wish  to  see  me,  come  to  me :  I  am  yours.  Good-night, 
and  Heaven  c'uard  you  !  Natalie." 

George  Brand  turned  to  his  friend. 

"This,"  said  he;  but  his  lij)  trembled,  and  he  stopped  for  a 
second.  Then  he  continued:  "This  is  a  message  from  her,  Eve- 
lyn. And  I  know  what  poor  old  Calabressa  would  say  of  it,  if 
he  were  here.  He  would  say  :  '  That  is  what  might  have  been 
expected  from  the  daughter  of  Natalie  Berezolyi !'  " 

"  She  knows,  then  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  still  looking  at  the  hastily  written  lines  in  pen- 
cil, "  and  it  is  as  vou  imao'ined.  Her  father  has  told  her  we  must 
not  see  each  other  again,  and  she  has  refused  to  be  bound  by  any 
such  injunction.  I  rather  fancy  she  thinks  he  must  have  convey- 
ed the  same  intimation  to  me ;  at  all  events,  she  has  written  at 
once  to  assure  me  that  she  will  not  break  her  promise  to  me.  It 
was  kindly  meant;  was  it  not?  I  wish  Anneli  had  waited  for  a 
second." 

He  folded  up  the  letter  and  put  it  in  his  pocket-book ;  it  was 
one  more  treasure  he  should  carry  with  him  to  America.  But 
when,  later  on,  Evelyn  had  left,  he  took  it  out  again,  and  reread 
ao-ain  ami  again  the  irregular,  hurried,  pencilled  lines,  and  thought 
of  the  proud,  quick,  generous  spirit  that  had  prompted  them. 
And  was  she  still  awake  and  thinking?  And  could  her  heart 
liear,  tln\)iigh  the  silence  of  the  night,  tlie  message  of  love  and 
gratitude  that  he  sent  her?  '''^  Good -night,  and  Heaven  guard 
you  /"  It  had  been  a  troubled  and  liarassing  day  for  him  ;  but 
this  tender  good-night  message  came  in  at  the  close  of  it  like  a 
strain  of  sweet  music  that  he  would  carry  with  him  into  the  land 
of  dreams. 

10* 


226  SUNRISE. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

SOME     TREASURES. 

The  next  iworning  Natalie  was  sitting  alone  in  the  little  dining- 
room,  dressed  ready  to  go  out.  Perhaps  she  had  been  crying  a 
little  by  herself;  but  at  all  events, when  she  heard  the  sound  of 
some  one  being  admitted  at  the  front-door  and  coming  into  the 
passage,  she  rose,  with  a  flush  of  pleasure  and  relief  appearing  on 
her  pale  and  saddened  face.     It  was  Madame  Potecti. 

"Ah,  it  is  so  good  of  you  to  come  early,"  said  Natalie  to  her 
friend,  with  a  hind  of  forced  cheerfulness,  "  Shall  we  start  at 
once?  I  have  been  thinking  and  thinking  myself  into  a  state  of 
misery ;  and  what  is  the  use  of  that?" 

"  Let  me  look  at  you,"  said  the  prompt  little  music-mistress, 
taking  both  her  hands,  and  regarding  her  with  her  clear,  shrewd 
blue  eyes.  "  No ;  you  are  not  looking  well.  The  walk  will  do 
you  good,  my  dear.     Come  away,  then." 

But  Natalie  paused  in  the  passage,  with  some  appearance  of 
embarrassment.     Anneli  was  standing  by  the  door. 

"Remember  this,  Anneli:  if  any  one  calls  and  wishes  to  see 
me — and  particularly  wishes  to  see  me — you  will  not  say,  'My 
mistress  is  gone  out;'  you  will  say,  'My  mistress  is  gone  to  the 
South  Kensington  Museum  with  Madame  Potecki.'  Do  you  un- 
derstand that,  Anneli  ?" 

"  Yes,  Fraulein  ;   certainly." 

Then  they  left,  going  by  way  of  the  Park.  And  the  morning 
was  fresh  and  bright;  the  energetic  little  Polish  lady  was  more 
talkative  and  cheerful  than  ever;  the  girl  with  her  had  only  to 
listen,  with  as  much  appearance  of  interest  as  was  possible,  con- 
sidering that  her  thoughts  were  so  apt  to  wander  aw^ay  elsewhither. 

"  My  dear,  what  a  lovely  morning  for  us  to  go  and  look  at  ray 
treasures  !  The  other  day  I  was  saying  to  myself, '  There  is  my 
adopted  daughter  Natalie,  and  I  have  not  a  farthing  to  leave'her. 
What  is  the  use  of  adopting  a  child  if  you  have  nothing  to  leave 
her?'     Then  I  said  to  myself,  'Never  mind  :  I  will  teach  her  my 


SOME    TREASURES.  227 

theory  of  liviiiL:;;  tliat  will  make  lier  richer  than  a  hundred  lep^a- 
cies  will  do.'  Dear,  dear !  that  was  all  the  legacy  my  poor  hus- 
band left  to  me." 

She  passed  Iior  li.iiid  over  her  eyes. 

"  Don't  you  ever  marry  a  man  who  lias  anything  to  do  with 
politics,  my  child.  Many  a  time  my  poor  Potecki  used  to  say  to 
me, '  My  angel,  cultivate  contentment;  you  may  have  to  live  on 
it  some  day.' " 

"  And  you  have  taken  bis  advice,  madame ;  you  are  very  con- 
tent." 

"  Why  ?  Because  I  have  my  theory.  They  think  that  I  am 
poor.  It  is  poor  Madame  Potecki,  who  earns  her  solitary  supper 
by  'One, two,  three,  four;  one,  two,  three,  four;'  who  has  not  a 
treasure  in  the  world — except  a  young  Hungarian  lady,  who  is 
almost  a  daughter  to  her.  Well,  well ;  but  you  know  my  way 
of  thinking,  my  dear:  you  laugh  at  it ;  I  know  you  do.  You 
say,  '  That  mad  little  Madame  Potecki.'  Put  some  day  I  will 
convince  you." 

"  I  am  willing  to  be  taught  now,  madame — seriously.  Is  it 
not  wise  to  be  content?" 

"I  am  more  than  content,  my  dear;  I  am  proud,  I  am  vain. 
When  1  think  of  all  the  treasures  that  belong  to  the  public,  and 
to  me  as  one  of  the  public — the  Turner  landscapes  in  the  Na- 
tional Gallery ;  the  books  and  statues  in  the  British  Museum ; 
the  bronzes  and  china  and  jewellery  at  South  Kensington — do 
you  not  think,  my  dear,  that  I  am  thankful  I  have  no  paltry  little 
collection  in  my  own  house  that  I  should  be  ashamed  of?  Then 
look  at  the  care  that  is  taken  of  them.  I  have  no  risk.  I  am 
not  disheartened  for  a  day  because  a  servant  has  broken  my  best 
piece  of  Nankin  blue.  I  have  no  trouble  and  no  thought;  it  is 
only  when  1  have  a  little  holiday  that  I  say  to  myself,  '  Well, 
shall  I  ofo  and  see  niv  Rcmbrandts?  Or  shall  I  look  over  my 
cases  of  E^truscan  rings  ?  Or  shall  I  go  and  feast  my  eyes  on  the 
hleu  de  roi  of  a  piece  of  jewelled  Sevres?'     Oh,  my  love!" 

She  clasped  her  hands  in  ecstasy.  Her  volubility  had  outrun 
itself  and  got  choked. 

"  1  will  show  you  three  vases,"  said  she,  presently,  in  almost  a 
solemn  way — "I  will  show  you  three  vases,  in  white  and  brown 
crackle,  that  put  all  the  color  in  the  whole  of  my  collection  to 
shame.     My  dear,  I  have  never  seen  in  the   world  anything  so 


228  SUNRISE. 

lovely — the  soft  cream-white  ground,  the  rich  brown  decoration 
— the  beautiful,  bold,  graceful  shape ;  and  they  only  cost  sixty 
pounds! — sixty  pounds  for  the  three,  and  they  worth  a  kingdom  ! 
Why —  But  really,  my  dear  Natalie,  you  walk  too  fast.  I  feel  as 
if  I  were  being  marched  off  to  prison  !" 

"  Oh,  I  bco-  vour  pardon  !"  said  the  girl,  laughing.  "  I  am  al- 
ways  forgetting ;  and  papa  scolds  me  often  enough  for  it." 

"Have  you  heard  what  I  told  you  about  those  priceless  vases 
in  the  South  Kensington?" 

"I  am  most  anxious  to  see  them,  I  assure  you." 

"My  blue -and- white,"  Madame  Potecki  continued,  seriously, 
"I  am  afraid  \^  not  always  of  the  best.  There  are  plenty  of 
good  pieces,  it  is  true ;  but  they  are  not  the  finest  feature  of  the 
collection.  Oh!  the  Benares  brocades  —  I  had  forgotten  them. 
Ah,  my  dear,  these  will  make  you  open  your  eyes !" 

"But  don't  you  get  bewildered,  madame,  with  having  to  think 
of  so  many  possessions  ?"  said  Natalie,  respectfully. 

"  No,"  said  the  other,  in  a  matter-of-fact  way ;  "  I  take  them 
one  by  one.  I  pay  a  morning  call  here,  a  morning  call  there, 
when  I  have  no  appointments,  just  to  see  that  everything  is  going 
on  well." 

Presently  she  said, 

"  Ah,  well,  my  dear,  we  are  poor  weak  creatures.  Ilere  and 
there,  in  my  wanderings,  I  have  met  things  that  I  almost  covet- 
ed; but  see  what  an  impossible,  monstrous  collection  they  would 
make !  Let  me  think,  now.  The  Raphael  at  Dresden ;  two 
Titian  portraits  in  tlie  Louvre;  the  Venus  of  Milo  —  not  the 
Medici  one  at  all;  I  would  not  take  it;  I  swear  I  would  not  ac- 
cept it,  that  trivial  little  creature  with  the  yellow  skin  !" 

"  My  dear  friend,  the  heavens  will  fall  on  you !"  her  companion 
exclaimed. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  the  little  music-mistress,  reflectively. 
"  I  have  not  completed  my  collection.  There  is  a  Holy  Family 
of  Botticelli's — I  forget  where  I  saw  it.  And  the  bust  of  the 
Empress  Messalina  in  the  Uffizi :  did  you  ever  notice  it,  Natalie?" 

"  No." 

"  Do  not  forget  it  when  you  are  in  Florence  again.  You  won't 
believe  any  of  the  stories  about  her  when  you  see  the  beautiful 
refined  face ;  only  don't  forget  to  remark  how  flat  the  top  of  her 
head  is.     Well,  where  are  we,  my  dear  ?     The  bronze  head  of  the 


SOME    TREASURES.  229 

goddess  in  tlie  Castcllani  collection  :  T  would  have  tliat ;  and  the 
tiglitin^-  TcMioraire.  Will  these  do  ?  IJut  then,  my  dear,  even  if 
one  had  all  these  things,  see  what  a  monstrous  collection  they 
would  make.  AN'liat  should  I  do  with  them  in  mv  lodji'infjs,  even 
if  I  had  room?     No;   I  must  be  content  with  what  I  have." 

By  this  time  they  had  got  d(jwn  into  South  Kensington,  and 
were  drawing;  near  one  of  Madame  Poteclci's  great  treasure-houses. 

"Then,  you  see,  my  dear  Natalie,"  slie  continued,  "my  owner- 
sliip  of  these  beautiful  things  we  arc  going  to  see  is  not  selfish. 
It  can  be  multiplied  indefinitely.  You  may  have  it  too;  any  one 
may  have  it,  and  all  without  the  least  anxiety  !" 

"  Tliat  is  very  pleasant  also,"  said  the  girl,  who  was  paying  less 
lieed  now.  The  forced  cheerfulness  that  had  marked  her  manner 
at  starting  had  in  great. measure  left  her.  Her  look  was  absent; 
she  blindly  followed  her  guide  through  the  little  wicket,  and  into 
the  luishcd  large  hall. 

The  silence  was  grateful  to  her;  tliere  was  scarcely  any  one 
in  the  place.  While  Madame  Potecki  busied  herself  with  some 
catalogue  or  other,  the  girl  turned  aside  into  a  recess,  to  look  at  a 
cast  of  the  effigy  on  the  tomb  of  Queen  Eleanor  of  Castile.  A 
tombstone  stills  the  air  around  it.  Even  this  gilt  plaster  figure 
was  impressive ;  it  liad  the  repose  of  the  dead. 

But  she  had  not  been  standing  there  for  a  couple  of  seconds 
when  she  heard  a  well-known  voice  behind  her. 

"  Natalie !" 

She  knew.  There  was  neither  surprise  nor  sliamcfacedness 
in  her  look  when  she  turned  and  saw  George  Brand  before  lier. 
Her  eyes  were  as  fearless  as  ever  when  they  met  his;  and  they 
were  glad,  too,  with  a  sudden  joy ;  and  she  said,  quickly, 

"Ah,  I  thought  you  would  come.     I  told  Anneli." 

"  It  was  kind  of  you — and  brave — to  let  me  come  to  see  you." 

"  Kind  r  she  said.     "  IIow  could  I  do  otherwise  ?" 

"  But  you  are  looking  tired,  Natalie." 

"  I  did  not  sleep  much  last  night.     I  was  thinking." 

The  tears  started  to  her  eyes;  she  impatiently  brushed  them 
aside. 

"  I  know  wliat  you  were  tliinking.  That  is  why  I  came  so 
early  to  see  you.  You  were  blaming  yourself  for  what  ha.s  hap- 
pened. That  is  not  right.  You  are  not  to  blame  at  all.  Do 
you  think  I  gave  you  that  promise  for  nothing  ?" 


230  SUNRISE. 

"You  were  always  like  that,"  slie  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "Very 
generous  and  unselfish.  Yes,  I — I — was  miserable  ;  I  thought  if 
vou  had  never  known  me — " 

"  If  I  had  never  known  you !  You  think  that  would  be  a  de- 
sirable thing  for  me  ! — " 

But  at  this  moment  the  hurried,  anxious,  half-whispered  con- 
versation had  to  cease,  for  ]\I;ul;unc  Potecki  came  up.  Nor  was 
she  surprised  to  find  Mr.  Brand  there.  On  the  contrary,  she  said 
that  her  time  was  limited,  and  that  she  could  not  expect  other 
people  to  care  for  old  porcelain  as  much  as  she  did ;  and  if  Mr. 
Brand  would  take  her  dear  daughter  Natalie  to  see  some  pict- 
ures in  the  rooms  up-stairs,  she  would  come  and  find  her  out  by- 
and-by. 

"Not  at  all,  dear  madame,"  said  Natalie,  with  some  slight 
flush,  "  No.  We  will  go  with  you  to  see  the  three  wonderful 
vases." 

So  they  went,  and  saw  the  three  crackle  vases,  and  many  an- 
other piece  of  porcelain  and  enamel  and  bronze ;  but  always  the 
clever  little  Polish  woman  took  care  that  she  should  be  at  some 
other  case,  so  that  she  could  not  overhear  what  these  two  had  to 
say  to  each  other.     And  they  had  plenty  to  say. 

"  Why,  Natalie,  where  is  your  courage  ?  What  is  the  going  to 
America  ?     It  cannot  be  for  ever  and  ever." 

"But  even  then,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  hesitating  voice.  "If 
you  were  never  to  see  me  again,  you  would  blame  me  for  it  all. 
You  would  regret." 

"  How  can  I  regret  that  my  life  was  made  beautiful  to  me,  if 
only  for  a  time?  It  was  worth  nothing  to  me  before.  And  you 
are  forgetting  all  about  the  ring,  and  my  promise  to  you." 

This  light  way^of  talking  did  not  at  all  deceive  her.  What 
had  been  torturing  her  all  the  night  long  was  the  fancy,  the  sus- 
picion, that  her  father  was  sending  her  lover  to  America,  not 
solely  with  a  view  to  the  work  he  should  have  to  undertake 
there,  but  to  insure  a  permanent  separation  between  herself  and 
him.  That  was  the  cruel  bit  of  it.  And  she  more  than  ever  ad- 
mired the  manliness  of  this  man,  because  he  would  make  no  com- 
plaii>t  to  her.  He  had  uttered  no  word  of  protest,  for  fear  of 
wounding  her.  He  did  not  mention  her  father  to  her  at  all ;  but 
merely  treated  this  project  of  going  to  America  as  if  it  were  a 
part  of  his  duty  that  had  to  be  cheerfully  accepted. 


SOME    TKEASUKES.  231 

"After  I  have  once  said  good-bye  to  you,  Natalie,"  said  he,  "  it 
will  not  be  so  bad  for  nie.     I  shall  have  my  work." 

"  ^\'hen  do  you  go?"  she  asked,  with  rather  a  white  face. 

"  I  don't  know  yet.  It  may  be  a  matter  of  days.  You  will 
let  me  see  you  again,  my  darling — soon  ?" 

"  I  shall  be  liere  every  morning,  if  you  wish  it,"  she  answered. 

"  To-Tuorrow,  then  ?" 

"To-morrow,  at  eleven.  Anneli  will  come  with  me.  I  should 
have  waited  in  on  the  hope  of  seeing  you  this  morning;  but  it 
was  an  old  engagement  witli  Madame  Potecki.  Ah,  how  good 
she  is!  Do  you  see  how  she  pretends  to  be  interested  in  those 
things  ?" 

"  I  will  send  her  a  present  of  some  old  china  before  I  leave 
England,"  said  Brand. 

"No,  no,"  said  Natalie,  with  a  faint  smile  appearing  on  the  sad 
face.  "  It  would  destroy  her  theory.  She  does  not  care  for  any- 
thing at  home  so  long  as  she  possesses  these  public  treasures. 
She  is  very  content.  Indeed,  she  earns  enough  to  be  charitable. 
She  has  many  poor  dependents." 

By-and-by  Madame  Potecki,  with  great  evident  reluctance,  con- 
fessed that  she  had  to  return,  as  one  of  her  pupils  would  be  at 
her  house  by  half-past  tweh'e.  But  would  not  Mr.  Brand  take 
her  dear  adopted  child  to  see  some  of  the  pictures?  It  was  a 
pity  that  she  should  be  dragged  away,  and  so  forth. 

But  Natalie  promptly  put  an  end  to  these  suggestions  by  say- 
ing that  she  would  prefer  to  return  with  Madame  Potecki ;  and, 
it  being  now^  past  twelve,  as  soon  as  they  got  outside  she  engaged 
a  cab.  George  Brand  saw  them  off,  and  then  returned  into  the 
building.  He  wished  to  look  again  at  the  objects  she  had  look- 
ed at ;  to  recollect  every  word  she  had  uttered  ;  to  recall  the  very 
tones  in  which  she  had  spoken.  And  this  place  was  so  hushed 
and  quiet. 

Meanwhile,  as  the  occupants  of  the  cab  were  journeying  north- 
ward, Natalie  took  occasion  to  say  to  her  companion,  with  some- 
thing of  a  heightened  color, 

"You  must  not  imagine,  dear  madame,  that  I  expected  to  see 
Mr.  Brand  at  the  Museum  when  I  promised  to  go  with  you." 

"  But  what  if  you  had  expected,  my  child  T'  said  the  good-nat- 
ured music-mistress.     "  What  harm  is  there?" 

"  But  this  morning  I  did  expect  him  to  come,  and  that  is  why 


232  St'NRISE. 

I  left  the  message  vvitli  Aniieli,"  continued  tlie  girl.  "Because, 
do  vou  know,  niadame,  he  is  o'oino;  to  America:  and  when  he 
goes  I  may  not  see  him  ao-ain  for  many  years." 

"My  child!"  the  demonstrative  little  woman  exclaimed,  catch- 
ing hold  of  the  girl's  hand. 

But  Xatalie  was  not  inclined  to  be  sympathetic  at  this  mo- 
ment. 

"Xow  I  wish  yon,  dear  Madame  Potecki,"  she  continued  in  a 
firm  voice,  "  to  do  me  a  favor.  I  would  rather  not  speak  to  my 
father  about  Mr.  Brand.  I  wish  you  to  tell  him  for  me  that  so 
long  as  Mr.  Brand  remains  in  England  I  shall  continue  to  see 
him  ;  and  that  as  I  do  not  choose  he  should  come  to  my  father's 
house,  I  shall  see  him  as  I  saw  him  this  morning." 

"  My  love,  my  love,  what  a  frightful  duty  !     Is  it  necessary  ?" 

"  It  is  necessary  that  my  father  should  know,  certainly." 

"But  what  a  responsibility  !" 

"You  have  no  responsibility  whatever.  Anncli  will  go  with 
me.  All  that  I  ask  of  you,  dear  Madame  Potecki,  is  to  take  the 
message  to  my  father.     You  will;  will  you  not?" 

"  More  than  that  I  will  do  for  you,"  said  the  little  woman, 
boldly.  "I  see  there  is  unhappiness;  you  are  suffering,  my 
child.  "Well,  I  will  plunge  into  it;  I  will  see  your  father:  this 
cannot  be  allowed.  It  is  a  dangerous  thing  to  interfere — who 
knows  better  than  I?  But  to  sit  near  you  is  to  be  inspired;  to 
touch  your  hand  is  to  gain  the  courage  of  a  giant.  Yes,  I  will 
speak  to  your  father ;  all  shall  be  put  right." 

The  girl  scarcely  heard  her. 

"There  is  another  thing  I  would  ask  of  you,"  she  said,  slowly 
and  wistfully,  "  but  not  here.  May  I  come  to  you  when  the  les- 
son is  over  ?" 

"  At  two :  yes." 

So  it  was  that  Natalie  called  on  her  friend  shortly  after  two 
o'clock  and  was  shown  into  the  little  parlor.  She  was  rather 
pale.     She  sat  down  at  one  side  of  the  table. 

"  I  wished  to  ask  your  advice,  dear  Madame  Potecki,"  she  said, 
in  a  low  voice,  and  with  her  eyes  down.  "Now  you  must  sup- 
pose a  case.  You  must  suppose  that — that  two  people  love  each 
other — better — better  than  anything  else  in  the  world,  and  that 
they  are  ready  to  sacrifice  a  great  deal  for  each  other.  Well,  the 
man  is  ordered  away ;  it  is  a  banishment  from  his  own  country, 


IN    A    GARDEN    AT    POSILIPO.  23:} 

perhaps  forever;  and  lie  is  very  brave  about  it,  and  will  not  com- 
plain. Now  you  must  suppose  that  the  j^irl  is  very  miserable 
about  liis  going  away,  and  blames  herself ;  and  perhaps — per- 
haps wishes  —  to  do  something  to  sIkjw  she  understands  his 
nobleness  —  his  devotion;  and  she  would  do  anything  in  the 
world — anything  in  the  world,  Madame  Potecki — to  prove  her 
love  to  him — " 

"But,  child,  child,  why  do  you  tremble  so?" 

"  I  wish  yon  to  tell  me,  Madame  Potecki — I  wish  you  to  tell 
mo — whether — you  would  consider  it  unwomanly — unmaidenly 
— for  her  to  go  and  say  to  him, '  You  are  too  brave  and  unselfish 
to  ask  mc  to  go  with  you.  Now  I  olTer  myself  to  you.  If  you 
must  go,  why  not  I — your  wife  V  " 

Madame  Potecki  started  up  in  great  alarm. 

"Natalie,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  only — wished  to — to  ask — what  you  would  think." 

She  was  very  pale,  and  her  lips  were  tremulous;  but  she  did 
not  break  down.  ^ladame  Potecki  was  apparently  far  more 
agitated  than  slic  was. 

"My  child,  my  child,  I  am  afraid  you  arc  on  the  brink  of  some 
wild  thing !" 

"  Is  that  that  I  have  repeated  to  you  what  a  girl  ought  to  do  ?" 
Natalie  said,  almost  calmly.  "Do  you  think  it  is  what  my 
mother  would  have  done,  Madame  Potecki?  They  have  told  me 
she  was  a  brave  woman." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

IN    A    GARDEN   AT    POSILIPO. 

"  — Prends  mon  coeur,  me  dit-elle, 
Oui,  niais  h.  la  thapelle, 
Sois  mon  petit. . . . 
— Plait-il 
Ton  petit  ? 
— Sois  mon  petit  mari !" 


— It  was  Calabressa  who  was  gayly  humming  to  himself;  and 
it  was  well  that  he  could  amuse  himself  with  his  cJumsons  and 
his  cigarettes,  for  his  friend  Edwards  was  proving  anything  but 


234  SUNRISE. 

an  attentive  companion.  Tlie  tall,  near-siglited,  blond-faced  man 
from  the  British  Museum  was  far  too  much  engrossed  by  the 
scene  aronnd  him.  They  were  walkino-  along  the  quays  at  Na- 
ples; and  it  so  happened  that  at  this  moment  all  the  picturesque 
squalor  and  lazy  life  of  the  place  were  lit  up  by  the  glare  re- 
flected from  a  wild  and  stormy  sunset.  The  tall,  pink-fronted 
houses;  the  mules  and  oxen  with  their  brazen  yokes  and  tink- 
ling bells ;  the  fruit-sellers,  and  fish-sellers,  and  water-carriers,  in 
costumes  of  many  hues ;  the  mendicant  friars  with  their  cloak 
and  hood  of  russet-brown ;  the  priests  black  and  clean-shaven;  the 
groups  of  women,  swarthy  of  face,  with  head-dresses  of  red  or 
yellow,  clustered  round  the  stalls ;  the  children,  in  rags  of  brown, 
and  scarlet,  and  olive-green,  lying  about  the  pavement  as  if  artists 
had  posed  them  there — all  these  formed  a  picture  which  was  al- 
most bewildering  in  its  richness  of  color,  and  was  no  doubt  ren- 
dered all  the  more  brilliant  because  of  the  powerful  contrast  with 
the  dark  and  driven  sea.  For  the  waters  out  there  were  racing 
in  before  a  stiff  breeze,  and  springing  high  on  the  fortresses  and 
rocks;  and  the  clouds  overhead  were  seething  and  twisting,  with 
many  a  sudden  flash  of  orange ;  and  then,  far  away  beyond  all 
this  color  and  motion  and  change,  rose  the  vast  and  gloomy  bulk 
of  Vesuvius,  overshadowed  and  thunderous,  as  if  the  mountain 
were  charged  with  a  coming  storm. 

Calabressa  grew  impatient,  despite  his  careless  song. 

" — Me  seras  tu  fidele.  . .  . 
— Comme  une  tourterelle. 

— Ell  bien,  9a  va.  .  .  . 

9a  va ! 

— (^a,  me  va ! 
— Comme  9a,  9a  me  va ! 

— Diahle,  Monsieur  Edouarts !  You  are  very  silent.  You  do 
not  know  where  we  are  going,  perhaps  ?" 

Edwards  started,  as  if  he  were  waking  from  a  reverie. 

"  Oh  yes,  Signor  Calabressa,"  said  he,  "  I  am  not  likely  to  for- 
get that.  Perhaps  I  think  more  seriously  about  it  than  you.  To 
you  it  is  nothing.  But  I  cannot  forget,  you  see,  that  you  and  I 
are  practically  conniving  at  a  murder." 

"Hush,  hush,  my  dear  friend!"  said  Calabressa,  glancing  round. 
"  Be  discreet  I  And  what  a  foolish  phrase,  too !  You — you 
whose  business  is  merely  to  translate ;  to  preach ;  to  educate  a 


IN    A    GARDEN    AT    POSILIPO.  235 

poor  devil  of  a  Russian — wliat  have  you  to  do  with  it?  And 
to  speak  of  murder!  Bah!  You  do  not  understand  tlic  differ- 
ence, then,  between  killing  a  man  as  an  act  of  private  anger  and 
revenge,  and  executing  a  man  for  crimes  against  society  I  My 
good  friend  Edouarts,  you  have  lived  all  your  life  among  books, 
but  you  have  not  learned  any  logic — no  !" 

Edwards  was  not  inclined  to  go  into  any  abstract  argument. 
"  I  will  do  what  I  have  been  appointed  to  do,"  he  said,  curtly  ; 
"but  that  cannot  prevent  my  wishing  that  it  had  not  to  be  done 
at  all." 

"  And  who  knows  ?"  said  Calabressa,  lightly.  "  Perhaps,  if 
you  are  so  fearful  about  your  small  share,  your  very  little  share — 
it  is  no  more  than  that  of  the  garcon  who  helps  one  on  with  his 
coat :  is  he  accessary,  too,  if  a  rogue  has  to  be  punished  ? — is  he 
responsible  for  the  sentence,  also,  if  he  brushes  the  boots  of  the 
judge  ? — or  the  servant  of  the  court  who  sweeps  out  the  room, .is 
he  guilty  if  there  is  a  miscarriage  of  justice?  No,  no ;  my  dear 
friend  Edouarts,  do  not  alarm  yourself.  Then,  I  was  saying, 
perhaps  it  may  not  be  necessary,  after  all.  You  perceived,  my 
friend,  that  when  the  proposal  of  his  eminence  the  Cardinal  was 
mentioned,  the  Secretary  Granaglia  smiled,  and  I,  thoughtless, 
laughed.     You  perceived  it,  did  you  not?" 

By  this  time  they  were  in  the  Chiaja,  beyond  the  Villa  Reale ; 
and  there  were  fewer  people  about.  Calabressa  stopped  and 
confronted  his  companion.  For  the  purposes  of  greater  empha- 
sis, he  rested  his  right  elbow  in  the  palm  of  his  left  hand,  while 
his  forefinger  was  at  the  point  of  his  nose. 

"What?"  said  he,  in  this  striking  attitude,  "  what  if  we  were 
both  fools — ho  ?  The  Secretary  Granaglia  and  myself — what  if 
we  were  both  fools  ?" 

Calabressa  abandoned  his  pose,  linked  his  arm  within  that  of 
his  companion,  and  walked  on  with  him. 

"Come,  I  will  implant  something  in  your  mind.  I  will  throw 
out  a  fancy  ;  it  may  take  root  and  flourish ;  if  not,  who  is  the 
worse?  Now,  if  the  Council  were  really  to  entertain  that  pro- 
posal of  Zaccatelli  ?" 

He  regarded  his  friend  Edouarts. 

"You  observed,  I  say,  that  Granaglia  smiled:  to  him  it  was 
ludicrous.  I  laughed:  to  me  it  was  farcical — the  chatter  of  a 
bavard.     The  Pope  become  the  patron  of  a  secret  society  !     The 


236  SUNRISE. 

priests  become  our  friends  and  allies !  Very  well,  iny  friend  ; 
but  listen.  The  little  minds  see  what  is  absurd  ;  the  great  minds 
are  serious.  Granaglia  is  a  little  devil  of  courage  ;  but  he  is  nar- 
row ;  he  is  practical ;  he  has  no  imagination.  I :  what  am  I  ? 
— careless,  useless,  also  a  bavard,  if  you  will.  But  it  occurred  to 
me,  after  all,  when  I  began  to  think — what  a  great  man,  a  great 
mind,  might  say  to  this  proposal.  Take  a  man  like  Lind :  see 
what  he  could  make  of  it!  'Do  not  laugh  at  it  any  more,  Cala- 
bressa,'  said  I  to  myself, '  until  you  hear  the  opinion  of  wiser 
men  than  yourself.' " 

He  gripped  Edwards's  arm  tight. 

"  Listen.  To  become  the  allies  of  the  priests  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  believe  everything  the  priests  say.  On  the  other  hand, 
they  need  not  approve  all  that  we  are  doing,  if  only  they  with- 
draw their  opposition.  Do  you  perceive  the  possibility  now? 
Do  you  think  of  the  force  of  that  combination  ?  The  multitudes 
of  the  Catholics  encouraged  to  join  ! — the  Vatican  the  friend  and 
ally  of  the  Council  of  the  Seven  Stars  !" 

He  spoke  the  last  words  in  a  low  voice,  but  he  wore  a  proud 
look. 

"And  if  this  proposal  were  entertained,"  said  Edwards,  medi- 
tatively, "  of  course,  they  would  abandon  this  other  business." 

"  My  good  friend,"  said  Calabressa,  confidentially,  "  I  know 
that  Lind,  who  sees  things  with  a  laro-e  vision,  is  afjainst  it.  He 
consents — as  you  consent  to  do  your  little  outside  part — against 
his  own  opinion.  More ;  if  he  had  been  on  the  Council  the 
decree  would  never  have  been  granted,  though  De  Bedros  and  a 
dozen  of  his  daughters  had  demanded  it.  '  Calabressa,'  Tie  said 
to  me, '  it  will  do  great  mischief  in  England  if  it  is  known  that 
we  are  connected  with  it.'  Well,  you  see,  all  this  would  be 
avoided  if  they  closed  with  the  Cardinal's  offer." 

"You  are  sanguine,  Signor  Calabressa,"  said  the  other. 

"Besides,  the  thirty  thousand  lire !"  said  Calabressa,  eagerl v. 
"Do  you  know  what  that  is?  Ah,  you  English  have  always  too 
much  money  I" 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Edwards,  with  a  smile.  "  We  are  all  up  to 
the  neck  in  gold." 

"  Thirty  thousand  lire  a  year,  and  the  favor  of  the  Vatican ; 
what  fools  Granaglia  and  I  were  to  laugh  !  But  perhaps  we  will 
lind  that  the  Council  were  wiser," 


IN    A    GAKUEN    AT    POSILU'O.  237 

They  had  now  got  out  to  Posilipo,  and  the  stormy  sunset  had 
waned,  leaving  the  sky  overclouded  and  dusk.  Calabrcssa,  hav- 
ing first  looked  up  and  down  the  road,  stopped  by  the  side  of  a 
high  wall,  over  wliieh  projected  a  number  of  the  broken,  gray- 
green,  spiny  leaves  of  the  cactus — a  hedge  at  the  foot  of  the 
terrace  above. 

"Peste/"  said  he.  "IIow  the  devil  is  one  to  find  it  out  in 
the  dark  ?" 

"Find  wliat  out?" 

"My  good  friend,"  said  he,  in  a  whisper,  "you  are  not  able  by 
chance  to  see  a  bit  of  thread — a  bit  of  red  thread — tied  round 
one  of  those  big  leaves?" 

Edwards  glanced  up. 

"  Not  I." 

"Ah,  well,  we  must  run  the  risk.  Perhaps  by  accident  there 
may  be  a  meeting," 

They  walked  on  for  some  time,  Calabrcssa  becoming  more  and 
more  watchful.  They  paused  to  let  a  man  driving  a  wagon  and 
a  pair  of  oxen  go  by ;  and  then  Calabrcssa,  enjoining  his  com- 
panion to  remain  where  he  was,  went  on  alone. 

The  changing  sky  had  opened  somewhat  overhead,  and  there 
was  a  wan  twilight  shining  through  the  parted  clouds.  Edwards, 
looking  after  Calabrcssa,  could  have  fancied  that  the  dark  figure 
had  disappeared  like  a  gliost ;  but  the  old  albino  had  merely  crossed 
the  road,  opened  the  one-half  of  a  huge  gate,  and  entered  a  garden. 

It  was  precisely  like  the  gardens  of  the  other  villas  along  the 
highway — cut  in  terraces  along  the  steep  side  of  the  hill,  with 
winding  pathways,  and  marble  lions  here  and  there,  and  little 
groves  of  orange  and  olive  and  fig  trees;  while  on  one  side  the 
sheer  descent  was  guarded  by  an  enormous  cactus  hedge.  The 
ground  was  very  unequal :  on  one  small  plateau  a  fountain  was 
playing — the  trickling  of  the  water  the  only  sound  audible  in  the 
silence. 

Calabrcssa  took  out  his  pocket-book,  and  tore  a  leaf  from  it. 

"The  devil !"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "How  is  one  to  write 
in  the  dark  ?" 

But  he  managed  to  scrawl  the  word  "  Barsanti ;"  then  he  wrap- 
ped the  paper  round  a  small  pebble  and  approached  the  fountain. 
By  putting  one  foot  on  the  edge  of  the  stone  basin  beneath  he 
could  reach  over  to  the  curved  top,  and  there  he  managed  to  drop 


238  SUNRISE. 


the  missive  into  some  aperture  concealed  under  the  lip.  He 
stepped  back,  dried  his  hand  with  his  handkerchief,  and  then 
Avcnt  down  one  of  the  patliways  to  a  lower  level  of  the  garden. 

llere  he  easily  found  the  entrance  to  an  ordinary  sort  of  grotto 
— a  uarrow  cave  Aviiiding  inward  and  ending  in  a  piece  of  fancy 
rockwork  down  which  the  watQr  was  heard  to  trickle.  But  he 
did  not  go  to  the  end — he  stopped  about  half-way  and  listened. 
There  was  no  sound  whatever  in  the  dark,  except  the  plash  of 
the  tiny  w^ater-fall. 

Then  there  was  a  heavy  grating  noise,  and  in  the  black  wall 
before  him  appeared  a  vertical  line  of  orange  light.  This  sudden 
gleam  was  so  bewildering  to  the  eyes  that  Calabressa  could  not 
see  who  it  was  that  came  out  to  him ;  he  only  knew  that  the 
stranger  waited  for  him  to  pass  on  into  the  outer  air. 

"  It  is  cooler  here.     To  your  business,  friend  Calabressa." 

The  moment  Calabressa  recognized  this  tall,  military-looking 
man,  with  the  closely  cropped  bullet-head  and  long  silver-white 
mustache,  he  wdiipped  off  his  cap,  and  said,  anxiously, 

"  A  thousand  pardons.  Excellency  !  a  thousand  pardons  !  Do 
I  interrupt  ?     May  not  I  see  Fossati  ?" 

"It  is  unnecessary.  There  is  much  business  to-night.  One 
must  breathe  the  air  sometimes." 

Calabressa  for  once  had  completely  lost  his  sang-froid.  He 
could  not  speak  for  stammering. 

"  I  assure  you,  your  Excellency,  it  is  death  to  me  to  think  that 
I  interrupt  you." 

"  But  why  did  you  come,  then,  my  friend  ?     To  the  point." 

"  Zaccatelli,"  the  other  managed  to  get  out. 

"  Well  ?" 

"  There  was  a  proposal.     Some  days  ago  I  saw  Granaglia." 

"  Well  ?" 

"  Pardon  me.  Excellency.  If  I  had  known,  not  for  worlds 
would  I  have  called  you — " 

"  Come,  come,  my  Calabressa,"  said  the  other,  good-natured- 
ly. "  No  more  apologies.  What  is  it  you  have  to  say  ? — the 
proposal  made  by  the  Cardinal  ?     Yes ;  we  know  about  that." 

"  And  it  has  not  been  accepted  ? — the  decree  remains  ?" 

"  You  waste  your  breath,  my  friend.  The  decree  remains,  cer- 
tainly. We  are  not  children  ;  we  do  not  play.  What  more,  my 
Calabressa  ?" 


IN    A    UAKUEX    AT    I'OSILIPO.  239 

But  Calabressa  hud  to  collect  liis  thoughts.  Then  he  said, 
slowl}-, 

"  It  occurred  to  inc  when  I  was  in  England — there  was  a  poor 
devil  there  who  would  have  thrown  away  liis  life  in  a  useless  act 
of  revenge — well — " 

"  Well,  you  brought  him  over  here,"  said  the  other,  interrupting 
him.  "Your  object.^  Ah,  Lind  and  you  being  old  comrades; 
and  Lind  a[)pearing  to  you  to  be  in  a  ditliculty.  But  did  Lind 
approve  ?" 

"  Not  quite,"  said  Calabressa,  still  hesitating.  "  lie  allowed  us 
to  try,     lie  was  doubtful  himself." 

"  I  should  have  thought  so,"  said  the  other,  ironically.  *'  No, 
good  Calabressa;  we  cannot  accept  the  services  of  a  maniac. 
The  night  has  got  dark;  I  cannot  see  whether  you  are  surprised. 
IJow  do  we  know?  The  man  Kirski  has  been  twice  examined 
— once  in  Venice,  once  this  morning,  when  you  went  down  to  the 
Luisa  ;  the  reports  the  same,  ^^'hat !  To  have  a  maniac  blun- 
dering about  the  gates,  attracting  every  one's  notice  by  his  gib- 
berish ;  then  he  is  arrested  with  a  pistol  or  a  knife  in  his  hand ; 
he  talks  nonsense  about  some  Madonna;  he  is  frightened  into  a 
confession,  and  we  become  the  laughing-stock  of  Europe !  Ira- 
possible —  impossible,  my  Calabressa:  where  were  your  wits? 
No  wonder  Lind  was  doubtful — " 

"The  man  is  capable  of  being  taught,"  said  Calabressa,  liumbly. 

"  We  need  not  waste  more  breath,  my  friend.  To-night  Lind 
will  be  reminded  why  it  was  necessary  that  the  execution  of  this 
decree  was  intrusted  to  the  English  section  :  he  must  not  send 
any  Russian  madman  to  compromise  us." 

"  Then  I  must  take  him  back,  your  Excellency  ?" 

"  No  ;  send  him  back — with  the  English  scholar.  You  will  re- 
main in  Naples,  Calabressa.  There  is  something  stirring  that  will 
interest  you." 

"  I  am  at  your  service.  Excellency." 

"Good-night,  dear  friend." 

The  figure  beside  him  had  disappeared  almost  before  he  had 
time  to  return  the  salutation,  and  lie  was  left  to  find  his  way 
down  to  tlie  gate,  taking  care  not  to  run  unawares  on  one  of  the 
long  cactus  spines.  Uc  discovered  Edwards  precisely  where  he 
had  left  him. 

"Ah,  Monsieur  Edouarts,  now  you  may  clap  your  hands — now 


240  SUNRISE. 

you  may  shout  an  Eiiglisli  '  hurrah !'      For  you,  at  all   events, 
there  is  good  news," 

"  That  project  has  been  abandoned,  then  ?"  said  Edwards,  ea- 
gerly. 

"  No,  no,  no  !"  said  Calabressa,  loftily  ;  as  if  he  had  never  enter- 
tained such  a  possibility.  "  Do  you  think  the  Council  is  to  be 
played  with — is  to  be  bribed  by  so  many  and  so  many  lire?  No, 
no.     Its  decree  is  inviolable." 

"  Well,  then  r 

"  Well,  then,  some  stupidities  of  our  Russian  friend  have  saved 
you :  they  know  everything,  these  wonderful  people :  they  say, 
'  No ;  we  will  not  trust  the  affair  to  a  madman.'  Do  you  per- 
ceive? What  you  have  to  do  now  is  to  take  Kirski  back  to 
England." 

"And  I  am  not  wanted  any  longer?"  said  the  other,  with  the 
same  eagerness. 

"  I  presume  not.  I  am.  I  remain  in  Naples.  For  you,  you 
are  free.  Away  to  England !  I  give  you  my  blessing ;  and  to- 
night— to-night  you  will  give  me  a  bottle  of  wine." 

But  presently  he  added,  as  they  still  walked  on, 

"  Friend  Edouarts,  do  you  think  I  should  be  humiliated  because 
my  little  plan  has  been  refused  ?  No :  it  was  born  of  idleness. 
My  freedom  was  new  to  me ;  over  in  England  I  had  nothing  to 
do.  And  when  Lind  objected,  I  talked  him  over.  Fcste,  if  those 
fellows  of  the  Society  had  not  got  at  the  Russian,  all  might  have 
been  well." 

"  You  will  forgive  my  pointing  out,"  said  Edwards,  in  quite  a 
facetious  way,  "  that  all  would  not  have  been  so  well  with  me,  for 
one.  I  am  very  glad  to  be  able  to  wash  my  hands  of  it.  You 
shall  have  not  only  one  but  two  bottles  of  wine  with  supper,  if 
you  please." 

"  Well,  friend  Edouarts,  I  bring  you  the  good  news,  but  I  am 
not  the  author  of  it.  No ;  I  must  confess,  I  would  rather  have 
had  my  plan  carried  out.  But  what  matter?  One  does  one's 
best  from  time  to  time  —  the  hours  go  by  —  at  the  end  comes 
sleep,  and  no  one  can  torment  you  more." 

They  walked  on  for  a  time  in  silence.  And  now  before  them 
lay  the  wonderful  sight  of  Naples  ablaze  with  a  dusky  yellow  ra- 
diance in  the  dark  ;  and  far  away  beyond  the  most  distant  golden 
points,  higli  up  in  the  black  deeps  of  the  sky,  the  constant,  mo- 


FRIEND    AND    SWEETHEART.  241 

tionless,  crimson  glow  of  Vesuvius  told  tlietn  where  the  peaks  of 
the  mountain,  tlicmselves  unseen,  towered  above  the  sea. 

By-and-by  they  plunged  into  the  great  murmuring  city. 

"  You  arc  froinjr  back  to  En2;land,  Monsieur  Edouarts.  You 
will  take  Kirski  to  Mr.  Braixl ;  ho  will  be  reinstated  in  his  work; 
Englishmen  do  not  forget  their  promises.  Then  I  have  another 
little  commission  for  you." 

lie  went  into  one  of  the  small  jeweller's  shops ;  and,  after  a 
great  deal  of  haggling — for  his  purse  was  not  heavy,  and  he  knew 
the  ways  of  his  countrymen — he  bought  a  necklace  of  pink  coral. 
It  was  carefully  wrapped  in  wool  and  put  into  a  box.  Then  they 
went  outside  again. 

"You  will  give  this  little  present,  my  good  friend  Edouarts — 
you  will  take  it,  with  my  compliments,  to  my  beautiful,  noble 
child  Natalie ;  and  you  will  tell  her  that  it  did  not  cost  much, 
but  it  is  only  a  message — to  show  that  Calabressa  still  thinks  of 
her,  and  loves  her  always." 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

FRIEND    AND    SWEETHEART. 


Madame  Potecki  was  a  useful  enough  adviser  in  the  small 
and  ordinary  affairs  of  every-day  life,  but  face  to  face  with  a 
great  emergency  she  became  terrified  and  helpless. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,"  she  kept  repeating,  in  a  flurried  sort  of 
way,  "  you  must  not  do  anything  rash — you  must  not  do  any- 
thing wild.  Oh,  my  dear,  take  care  !  it  is  so  wicked  for  children 
to  disobey  their  parents !" 

"  I  am  no  longer  a  child,  Madame  Potecki ;  I  am  a  woman  :  I 
know  what  seems  to  me  just  and  unjust ;  and  I  only  wish  to  do 
right."  She  was  now  quite  calm.  She  had  mastered  that  invol- 
untary tremulousness  of  the  lips.  It  was  the  little  Polish  lady 
who  was  agitated. 

"My  dear  Xatalie,  I  will  go  to  your  father.  I  said  I  would 
o'o  —  even  with  vour  message  —  thoufjh  it  is  a  frio-htful  task. 
But  how  can  I  tell  him  that  you  have  this  other  project  in  your 
mind?  Oh,  my  dear,  be  cautions!  don't  do  anything  you  will 
have  to  repent  of  in  after-years !" 

11 


242  SUNRISE. 


"You  need  not  tell  him,  dear  Madame  Potecki,  if  you  are 
alarmed,"  said  the  girl.  "  I  will  tell  him  myself,  when  I  have 
come  to  a  decision.  So  you  cannot  say  what  one  ought  to  do  iu 
such  circumstances?  You  cannot  tell  me  what  my  mother,  for 
example,  would  have  done  in  such  a  case?" 

"Ob,  I  can;  I  can,  my  dear,"  said  the  other,  eagerly.  "At 
least  I  can  tell  you  what  is  best  and  safest.  Is  it  not  for  a  girl 
to  go  by  her  father's  advice — her  father's  wishes  ?  Then  she  is 
safe.  Anything  else  is  wild,  dangerous.  My  dear,  you  are  far 
too  impulsive.  You  do  not  think  of  consequences.  It  is  all  the 
affair  of  the  moment  with  you,  and  how  you  can  do  some  one 
you  love  a  kindness  at  the  instant.  Your  heart  is  warm,  and  you 
are  quick  to  act.  All  the  more  reason,  I  say,  that  you  should  go 
by  some  one  else's  judgment ;  and  who  can  guide  you  better 
than  your  own  father?" 

"I  know  already  \\hat  my  father  wishes,"  said  Natalie. 

"  Then  why  not  go  by  that,  my  dear?  Be  sure  it  is  the  safest. 
Do  you  think  I  would  take  it  on  me  to  say  otherwise?  Ah,  my 
dear  child,  romance  is  very  beautiful  at  your  age ;  but  one  may 
sacrifice  too  much  for  it." 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  romance  at  all,"  said  Natalie,  looking 
down.  "  It  is  a  question  of  what  it  is  right  that  a  girl  should  do, 
in  faithfulness  to  one  whom  she  loves.  But  perhaps  it  is  better 
not  to  argue  it,  for  one  sees  so  differently  at  different  ages.  And 
I  am  very  grateful  to  you,  dear  Madame  Potecki,  for  agreeing  to 
take  that  message  to  my  father ;  but  I  will  tell  him  myself." 

She  rose.  The  little  woman  came  instantly  and  caught  her  by 
both  hands, 

"  Is  my  child  going  to  quarrel  with  me  because  I  am  old  and 
unsympathetic?" 

"  Oh  no  ;  do  not  think  that  1"  said  Natalie,  quickly. 

"What  you  say  is  quite  true,  my  dear;  different  ages  see  dif- 
ferently. When  I  was  at  your  age,  perhaps  I  was  as  liable  as 
any  one  to  let  my  heart  get  the  better  of  my  head.  And  do 
I  regret  it?"  The  little  woman  sighed.  "Many  a  time  they 
warned  me  against  marrying  one  who  did  not  stand  well  with 
the  authorities.  But  I — I  had  my  opinions,  too ;  I  was  a  pa- 
triot, like  the  rest.  We  were  all  mad  with  enthusiasm.  Ah,  the 
secret  meetings  in  Warsaw  ! — the  pride  of  them  ! — we  girls  would 
not  marry  one  who  was  not  a  patriot.     But  that  is  all  over  now ; 


FRIEND    AND    SWEETHEART.  243 

and  here  am  I  an  old  woman,  with  nothing  left  but  my  old  mas- 
ters, and  my  china,  and  my  '  One,  two,  three,  four ;  one,  two, 
three,  four.'  " 

Here  a  knock  outside  warned  Natalie  that  she  must  leave,  an- 
other pupil,  no  doubt,  having  arrived;  and  so  she  bade  good-bye 
to  her  friend,  not  much  enlightened  or  comforted  by  her  counsel. 

That  evening  Mr.  Lind  brought  Beratinsky  home  with  him  to 
dinner — an  unusual  circumstance,  for  at  one  time  Beratinsky  had 
wished  to  become  a  suitor  for  Natalie's  hand,  and  had  had  that 
project  very  promptly  knocked  on  the  head  by  Lind  himself. 
Thereafter  he  had  come  but  seldom  to  the  house,  and  never  with- 
out a  distinct  invitation.  On  this  evening  the  two  men  talked 
almost  exclusively  between  themselves,  and  Natalie  was  not  sorry 
to  be  allowed  to  remain  an  inattentive  listener.  She  was  think- 
ina:  of  other  things. 

When  Beratinsky  had  gone,  Lind  turned  to  his  daughter,  and 
said  to  her  pleasantly, 

"Well,  Natalie,  what  have  you  been  about  to-day?" 

"  First  of  all,"  said  she,  regarding  her  father  with  those  fearless 
eyes  of  hers, "  I  went  to  the  South  Kensington  Museum  with  Ma- 
dame Potecki.     Mr.  Brand  was  there." 

His  manner  changed  instantly. 

"  By  appointment  V  he  said,  sharply. 

"  No,"  she  answered.  "  I  thought  he  would  call  here,  and  I 
told  Anneli  where  we  had  gone." 

Lind  betrayed  no  expression  of  annoyance.  He  only  said, 
coldly, 

"  Last  night  I  told  you  it  was  my  wish  that  he  and  you  should 
have  no  further  communication  with  each  other." 

"  Yes ;  but  is  it  reasonable,  is  it  fair,  is  it  possible,  papa  ?"  she 
said,  forgetting  for  a  moment  her  forced  composure.  "  Do  you 
think  I  can  forget  why  he  is  going  away  ?" 

"Apparently  you  do  not  know  why  he  is  going  away,"  her  fa- 
ther said.  "  He  is  going  to  America  because  his  duty  commands 
that  he  should ;  because  he  has  work  to  do  there  of  more  im- 
portance than  sentimental  entanglements  in  this  country.  He 
understands  himself  the  necessity  of  his  going." 

The  girl's  cheeks  burnt  red,  and  she  sat  silent.  How  could 
she  accuse  her  own  father  of  prevarication  ?  But  the  crisis  was  a 
momentous  one. 


244  SUNRISE. 

"  You  forget,  papa,"  she  said  at  length,  in  a  low  voice,  "  that 
when  you  returned  from  abroad  and  got  Mr.  Brand's  letter,  you 
came  to  me.  You  said  that  if  there  was  any  further  question  of 
a — a  marriage — between  Mr.  Brand  and  myself,  you  would  have 
to  send  him  to  America.  I  was  to  be  the  cause  of  his  banish- 
ment." 

"  I  spoke  hastily — in  anger,"  her  father  said,  with  some  impa- 
tience. "  Quite  apart  from  any  such  question,  Mr.  Brand  knows 
that  it  is  of  great  importance  some  one  like  himself  should  go  to 
Philadelphia ;  and  at  the  moment  I  don't  see  any  one  who  could 
do  as  well.     Have  you  anything  further  to  say?" 

"  No,  papa — except  good-night."  She  kissed  him  on  the  fore- 
head and  went  away  to  her  own  room. 

That  was  a  night  of  wild  unrest  for  Natalie  Lind.  It  was  her 
father  himself  who  had  represented  to  her  all  that  banishment 
from  his  native  country  meant  to  an  Englishman ;  and  in  her 
heart  of  hearts  she  believed  that  it  was  through  her  this  doom 
had  befallen  George  Brand.  She  knew  he  would  not  complain. 
He  professed  to  her  that  it  was  only  in  the  discharge  of  an  ordi- 
nary duty  he  was  leaving  England :  others  had  suffered  more  for 
less  reason;  it  was  nothing;  why  should  she  blame  herself?  But 
all  the  same,  through  this  long,  restless,  agonizing  night  she  ac- 
cused herself  of  having  driven  him  from  his  country  and  his 
friends,  of  having  made  an  exile  of  him.  And  again  and  again 
she  put  before  herself  the  case  she  had  submitted  to  Madame 
Potecki ;  and  again  and  again  she  asked  herself  what  her  own 
mother  would  have  done,  with  her  lover  going  away  to  a  strange 
land. 

In  the  morning,  long  before  it  was  light,  and  while  as  yet  she 
had  not  slept  for  a  second,  she  rose,  threw  a  dressing-gown  round 
her,  lit  the  gas,  and  went  to  the  little  escritoire  that  stood  by  the 
window.  Her  hand  was  trembling  when  she  sat  down  to  write, 
but  it  was  not  with  the  cold.  There  was  a  proud  look  on  her 
face.     This  was  what  she  wrote  : 

"  My  lover  and  husband, — You  are  going  away  from  your 
own  country,  perhaps  forever;  and  I  think  it  is  partly  through 
me  that  all  this  has  happened.  What  can  I  do  ?  Only  this ; 
that  I  offer  to  go  with  you,  if  you  will  take  me.  I  am  your 
wife  ;  why  should  you  go  alone  ?" 

There  was  no  signature.     She  folded  the  paper,  and  placed  it 


FRIEND    AND    SWEETHEART.  245 

in  an  envelope,  and  carefully  locked  it  up.  Then  sbe  put  out 
the  liirht  and  went  back  to  bed  atcain,  and  fell  into  a  sound, 
happv,  contented  sleep — the  untroubled  sleep  of  a  child. 

Then  in  the  morning  how  bright  and  light-hearted  she  was! 

Anncli  could  not  understand  this  change  that  bad  suddenly 
come  over  her  young  mistress.  She  said  little,  but  there  was  a 
happy  light  on  lier  face;  she  sung  "  Du  Schwert  an  meiner 
Linken "  in  snatches,  as  she  was  dressing  her  hair ;  and  she 
presented  Anncli  with  a  necklace  of  Turkish  silver  coins. 

She  was  down  at  the  South  Kensington  Museum  considerably 
before  eleven  o'clock.  She  idly  walked  Anncli  through  the  vari- 
ous rooms,  pointing  out  to  her  this  and  that ;  and  as  the  little 
Dresden  maid  had  not  been  in  the  Museum  before,  her  eyes  were 
wide  open  at  the  sight  of  such  beautiful  things.  She  was  sliown 
masses  of  rich  tapestry  and  cases  of  Japanese  lacquer-work ;  she 
was  shown  collections  of  ancient  jewellery  and  glass;  she  went 
by  sunny  English  landscapes,  and  was  told  the  story  of  solemn 
cartoons.  In  the  midst  of  it  all  George  Brand  appeared;  and 
the  little  German  girl,  of  her  own  accord,  and  quite  as  deftly  as 
Madame  Potccki,  devoted  herself  to  the  study  of  some  screens 
of  water-colors,  just  as  if  she  were  one  of  the  Royal  Academy 
pupils. 

"  We  have  been  looking  over  Madame  Potecki's  treasures  once 
more,"  said  Natalie,  lie  was  struck  by  the  happy  brightness  of 
her  face. 

"  Ah,  indeed  T'  said  he ;  and  he  went  and  brought  a  couple  of 
chairs,  that  together  they  might  regard,  if  they  were  so  minded, 
one  of  those  vast  cartoons.  "  Well,  I  have  good  news,  Natalie. 
I  do  not  start  until  a  clear  week  hence.  So  we  shall  have  six 
mornings  here  —  six  mornings  all  to  ourselves.  Do  you  know 
what  that  means  to  me  ?" 

She  took  the  chair  he  offered  her.  She  did  not  look  appalled 
by  this  intelligence  of  bis  early  departure. 

"  It  means  six  more  days  of  happiness :  and  do  you  not  think 
I  shall  look  back  on  them  with  gratitude  ?  And  there  is  not  to  be 
a  word  said  about  my  going.  No ;  it  is  understood  that  we  cut 
off  the  past  and  the  future  for  these  six  days.  We  are  here  ;  we 
can  speak  to  each  other ;  tliat  is  enough." 

"But  bow  can  one  help  thinking  of  the  future?"  said  sbe, 
with  a  mock  mournfulncss.     "  You  are  going  away  alone." 


246  SUNRISE. 

"  No,  uot  quite  alone." 

She  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Why,  you  know  what  Evelyn  is — the  best-hearted  of  friends," 
he  said  to  her.  "  lie  insists  on  going  over  to  America  with  uie, 
and  even  talks  of  remaining  a  year  or  two.  He  pretends  to  be 
anxious  to  study  American  politics." 

He  could  not  understand  why  she  laughed — though  it  was  a 
short,  quick,  hysterical  laugh,  very  near  to  tears. 

"  You  remind  mc  of  one  of  Mr.  Browning's  poems,"  she  said, 
half  in  apology.  "  It  is  about  a  man  who  has  a  friend  and  a 
sweetheart.     You  don't  remember  it,  perhaps  ?" 

He  thought  for  a  moment. 

"  The  fact  is,"  he  said,  "  that  when  I  think  of  Browning's 
poems,  all  along  the  line  of  them,  there  are  some  of  them  seem 
to  burn  like  fire,  and  I  cannot  see  the  others." 

"  This  is  a  very  modest  little  one,"  said  she.  "  It  is  a  poor 
poet  starving  in  a  garret ;  and  he  tells  you  he  has  a  friend  beyond 
the  sea;  and  he  knows  that  if  he  were  to  fall  ill,  and  to  wake  up 
out  of  hie  sickness,  he  would  find  his  friend  there,  tending  him 
like  the  gentlest  of  nurses,  even  though  he  got  nothing  but 
grumblings  about  his  noisy  boots.     And  the — the  poor  fellow — " 

She  paused  for  a  second. 

"  He  goes  on  to  tell  about  his  sweetheart — who  has  ruined 
him — to  whom  he  has  sacrificed  his  life  and  his  peace  and  fame 
— and  what  would  she  do  ?     He  says, 

'"She 
— I'll  tell  you — calmly  would  decree 
That  I  should  roast  at  a  slow  fire, 
If  that  would  compass  her  desire 
And  make  her  one  whom  they  invite 
To  the  famous  ball  to-morrow  night.' 

That  is — the  difference — between  a  friend  and  a  sweetheart — " 

He  did  not  notice  that  she  spoke  rather  uncertainly,  and  that 
her  eyes  were  wet. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Natalie  ?" 

"  That  it  is  a  good  thing  for  you  that  you  have  a  friend. 
There  is  one,  at  all  events — who  will — who  will  not  let  you  go 
awav  alone." 

"  My  darling !"  he  said,  "  what  new  notion  is  this  you  have  got 
into  your  head  ?    You  do  not  blame  yourself  for  that  too  ?    Why, 


FRIEND    AND    SWEKTHEART.  247 

you  see,  it  is  a  very  simple  thing  for  Lord  Evelyn,  who  is  an  idle 
man,  and  has  no  particular  tics  binding  hiin,  to  spend  a  few 
mouths  in  the  States ;  and  when  he  once  finds  out  that  the 
voyage  across  is  one  of  the  pleasantest  holidays  a  man  can  take, 
I  have  no  doubt  I  shall  see  him  often  enough.  Now,  don't  let 
us  talk  any  more  about  that — except  this  one  point.  Have  you 
promised  your  father  that  you  will  not  write  to  me  ?" 

"  Oh  no  ;  how  could  I  f 

*'  And  I  may  write  to  you  ?" 

"  I  shall  live  from  week  to  week  expecting  your  letters,"  she 
said  simply. 

"Then  we  shall  not  say  another  word  about  it,"  said  he,  light- 
ly. "  We  have  six  days  to  be  together :  no  one  can  rob  us  of 
them.  Come,  shall  we  go  and  have  a  look  at  the  English  porce- 
lain that  is  on  this  floor  ?  We  have  whole  heaps  of  old  Chelsea 
and  Crown  Derby  and  that  kind  of  thing  at  the  Beeches  :  I  think 
I  must  try  and  run  down  there  before  I  go,  and  send  you  some. 
What  use  is  it  to  nieT' 

"  Oh  no,  I  hope  you  won't  do  that,"  she  said,  quickly,  as  she 
rose. 

"  You  don't  care  about  it,  perhaps  ?" 

She  seemed  embarrassed  for  a  moment. 

"For  old  china  .^"  she  said,  after  a  moment.  "Oh  yes,  I  do. 
But — but — I  think  you  may  find  something  happen  that  would 
make  it  unnecessary — I  mean  it  is  very  kind  of  you — but  I  hope 
you  will  not  think  of  sending  me  any." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?     AVhat  is  about  to  happen  ?" 

"  It  is  all  a  mystery  and  a  secret  as  yet,"  she  said,  with  a  smile. 
She  seemed  so  much  more  light-hearted  than  she  had  been  the 
day  before. 

Then,  as  they  walked  by  those  cases,  and  admired  this  or  that, 
she  would  recur  to  this  forth-coming  departure  of  his,  despite  of 
him.  And  she  was  not  at  all  sad  about  it.  She  was  curious ; 
that  was  all.  Was  there  any  difficulty  in  getting  a  cabin  at  short 
notice  ?  It  was  from  Liverpool  the  big  steamers  sailed,  was  it 
not?  And  it  was  a  very  different  thing,  she  understood,  travel- 
ling in  one  of  those  huge  vessels,  and  crossing  the  Channel  in  a 
little  cockle-shell.  He  would  no  doubt  make  many  friends  on 
board.  Did  single  ladies  ever  make  the  voyage  ?  Could  a  single 
lady  and  her  maid  get  a  cabin  to  themselves?     It  would  not  be 


248 


SUNRISE. 


i? 


SO  very  tedious,  if  one  could  get  plenty  of  books.  And  so  forth, 
and  so  forth.  She  did  not  study  the  Chelsea  shepherdesses  very 
closely. 

"  ril  tell  you  what  I  wish  you  would  do,  Natalie,"  said  he. 

"  I  w  ill  do  it,"  she  answered. 

"  When  Lord  Evelyn  comes  back — some  day  I  wish  you  would 
take  Anneli  with  you  for  a  holiday — and  Evelyn  would  take  you 
down  to  have  a  look  over  the  Beeches.  You  could  be  back  the 
same  night.     I  should  like  you  to  see  my  mother's  portrait." 

She  did  not  answer. 

"  Will  you  do  that  ?" 

"  You  will  know  before  long,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  why  I 
need  not  promise  that  to  you.  But  that,  or  anything  else  I  am 
willing  to  do,  if  you  wish  it." 

The  precious  moments  sped  quickly.  And  as  they  walked 
through  the  almost  empty  rooms — how  silent  these  were,  with 
the  occasional  foot-falls  on  the  tiled  floors,  and  once  or  twice  the 
distant  sounding  of  a  bell  outside! — again  and  again  he  protest- 
ed against  her  saying  another  word  about  his  going  away.  What 
did  it  matter?  Once  the  pain  of  parting  was  over,  what  then? 
He  had  a  glad  work  before  him.  She  must  not  for  a  moment 
think  she  had  anything  to  do  with  it.  And  could  he  regret  that 
he  had  ever  met  her,  when  he  would  have  these  six  mornings  of 
happy  intercommunion  to  think  over,  when  the  wide  seas  sepa- 
rated them  ? 

"  Natalie,"  said  he,  reproachfully,  "  do  you  forget  the  night 
you  and  I  heard  Fidelio  together  ?  And  you  think  I  shall  regret 
ever  having  seen  you." 

She  smiled  to  herself.  Her  hand  clasped  a  certain  envelope 
that  he  could  not  see. 

Then  the  time  came  for  their  seeking  out  Anneli.  But  as 
they  were  going  through  the  twilight  of  a  corridor  she  stopped 
him,  and  her  usually  frank  eyes  were  downcast.  She  took  out 
that  envelope. 

"  Dearest,"  said  she,  almost  inaudibly,  "  this  is  something  I 
wish  you  to  read  after  Anneli  and  I  are  gone.  I  think  you  will 
— you  will  not  misunderstand  me.  If  you  think— it  is — it  is  too 
bold,  you  will  remember  that  I  have — no  mother  to  advise  me ; 
and— and  you  will  be  kind,  and  not  answer.  Then  I  shall  know." 
Ten  minutes  thereafter  he  was  standing  alone,  in  the  broad 


INTEKVENTION.  249 

daylight  outsiJc,  reading  the  lines  she  had  written  early  that 
morning,  and  in  every  one  of  them  lie  read  tlie  firm  and  noble 
character  of  the  woman  he  loved.  He  was  almost  bewildered  by 
the  proud-spirited  frankness  of  her  message  to  him  ;  and  invol- 
untarily he  thought  of  the  poor  devil  of  a  poet  in  the  garret  who 
spoke  of  his  faithful  friend  and  his  worthless  mistress. 

"  One  is  fortunate  indeed  to  have  a  friend  like  P]velyn,"  he 
said  to  himself.  "  l>ut  when  and  has,  besides  that,  the  love  of  a 
woman  like  this — then  the  earth  holds  something  worth  living 
for." 

He  looked  at  the  brief,  proud,  pathetic  message  again — **/  am 
your  wife:  why  should  yoa  <jo  alone  f  It  was  Natalie  herself 
speaking  in  every  word. 


CHAPTER  XXXHI. 

INTERVENTION. 


The  more  that  Madame  Potecki  thought  over  the  communica- 
tion made  to  her  by  Natalie,  the  more  alarmed  she  became.  Her 
pupils  received  but  a  very  mechanical  sort  of  guidance  that  after- 
noon. All  through  the  "  One,  two,  three,  four  ;  one,  two,  three, 
four "  she  was  haunted  by  an  uneasy  consciousness  that  her 
protests  had  not  been  nearly  strong  enough.  The  girl  had  not 
seemed  in  the  least  impressed  by  her  counsel.  And  suppose  this 
wild  project  were  indeed  carried  out,  might  not  she,  that  is,  Ma- 
dame Potecki,  be  regarded  as  an  accomplice  if  she  remained  silent 
and  did  not  intervene  ? 

On  the  other  hand,  although  she  and  Ferdinand  Lind  were 
friends  of  many  years'  standing,  she  had  never  quite  got  over  a 
certain  fear  of  him.  She  guessed  pretty  well  what  underlay  that 
pleasant,  plausible  exterior  of  his.  And  she  was  not  at  all  sure 
that,  if  she  went  to  Mr.  Lind  and  told  him  that  in  such  and  such 
circumstances  his  daughter  meant  to  go  to  America  as  the  wife 
of  George  Brand,  the  first  outburst  of  his  anger  might  not  fall  on 
herself.  She  was  an  intermeddlor.  What  concern  of  hers  was 
it?  He  might  even  accuse  her  of  having  connived  at  the  whole 
affair,  especially  during  his  absence  in  Philadelphia. 

But  after  all,  the  little  Polish  lady  was  exceedingly  fond  of  this 

11* 


250  SUNEISE. 

girl ;  and  slie  resolved  to  go  at  all  hazards  and  see  wLether  some- 
thing could  not  be  done  to  put  matters  straight.  She  would  call 
at  the  chambers  in  Lisle  Street,  and  make  sure  of  seeing  Mr.  Lind 
alone.  She  Avould  venture  to  remind  him  that  his  daughter  was 
grown  up — a  woman,  not  to  be  treated  as  a  child.  As  she  had 
been  altogether  on  the  father's  side  in  arguing  with  Natalie,  so 
she  would  be  altogether  on  the  daughter's  side  in  making  these 
representations  to  Mr.  Lind.  Perhaps  some  happy  compromise 
would  result. 

She  was,  however,  exceedingly  nervous  when,  on  the  following 
afternoon,  she  called  at  Lisle  Street,  and  was  preceded  up-stairs  by 
the  stout  old  German.  In  the  room  into  which  she  was  shown 
Reitzei  was  seated.  Reitzei  received  her  very  graciously ;  they 
were  old  friends.  But  although  Madame  Potecki  on  ordinary 
occasions  was  fond  of  listening  to  the  sound  of  her  own  voice, 
she  seemed  now  quite  incapable  of  saying  anything.  Reitzei  had 
been  fortunate  enough  to  hear  the  new  barytone  sing  at  a  private 
house  on  the  previous  evening;  she  did  not  even  ask  what  im- 
pression had  been  produced. 

Then  Mr.  Lind  came  into  the  room,  and  Reitzei  left. 

"How  do  you  do,  Madame  Potecki?"  said  he,  somewhat 
curtly. 

She  took  it  that  he  was  offended  because  she  had  come  on 
merely  private  affairs  to  his  place  of  business ;  and  this  did  not 
tend  to  lessen  her  embarrassment.  However,  she  made  a  brave 
plunge. 

"  You  are  surprised,"  she  said,  "  to  find  me  calling  upon  you 
here,  are  you  not  ?  Yes  ;  but  I  will  explain.  You  see,  my  dear 
friend,  I  wished  to  see  you  alone — " 

"  Yes,  yes,  Madame  Potecki ;  I  understand.  What  is  your 
news  ?" 

"It  is — about  Natalie,"  she  managed  to  say;  and  then  all  the 
methods  of  beginning  that  she  had  studied  went  clean  out  of  her 
mind ;  and  she  was  reduced  to  an  absolute  silence. 

He  did  not  seem  in  the  least  impatient. 

"  Yes ;  about  Natalie  ?"  he  repeated,  taking  up  a  paper-knife, 
and  beginning  to  write  imaginary  letters  on  the  leather  of  the 
desk  before  him. 

"You  will  say  to  me,  'Why  do  you  interfere?'"  the  little 
woman  managed  to  say  at  last.     "  Meddlers  do  harm  ;  they  are 


INTERVENTION.  251 

not  thanked.     But  then,  my  dear  friend,  Natalie  is  like  my  own 
child  to  nic;  for  her  wliat  would  I  not  do?" 

Mr.  Lind  could  not  fail  to  sec  that  his  visitor  was  very  nervous 
and  agitated :  perliai)s  it  was  to  give  her  time  to  compose  herself 
that  he  said,  leisurely, 

"Yes,  Madame  Potecki ;  I  know  that  you  and  she  are  great 
friends ;  and  it  is  a  good  thing  that  the  child  should  have  some 
one  to  keep  her  company  ;  perhaps  she  is  a  little  too  much  alone. 
Well,  what  do  you  wish  to  say  about  her?  You  run  no  risk  with 
me.  You  will  not  be  misunderstood.  I  know  you  are  not  likely 
to  say  anything  unkind  about  Natalie." 

"  Unkind  !"  she  exclaimed  ;  and  now  she  had  recovered  herself 
somewhat.  "  Who  could  do  that  ?  Oh  no,  my  dear  friend ;  oh 
no!" 

Ilere  there  was  another  awkward  pause. 

"  My  dear  Madame  Potecki,"  said  Mr.  Lind,  with  a  smile,  "shall 
I  speak  for  you  ?  You  do  not  like  to  say  what  you  have  come  to 
say.  Shall  I  speak  for  you?  This  is  it,  is  it  not?  You  have 
become  aware  of  that  entanglement  that  Natalie  has  got  into. 
Very  well.  Perhaps  she  has  told  you.  Perhaps  she  has  told  you 
also  that  I  have  forbidden  her  to  have  any  communication  with — 
well,  let  us  speak  frankly — Mr.  Brand.  Very  well.  You  go  with 
her  to  the  South  Kensington  Museum  ;  you  meet  Mr.  Brand 
there.  Naturally  you  think  if  that  comes  to  my  ears  I  shall  sus- 
pect you  of  having  planned  the  meeting ;  and  you  would  rather 
come  and  assure  me  that  you  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Is  it 
so?" 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  Madame  Potecki,  quickly,  "T  did  not 
come  to  you  about  myself  at  all !  What  am  I  ?  What  matters 
what  happens  to  an  old  woman  like  me?  It  is  not  about  my- 
self, it  is  about  Natalie  that  I  have  come  to  you.  Ah,  the  dear, 
beautiful  child ! — how  can  one  see  her  unhappy,  and  not  try  to 
do  something?  Why  should  she  be  unhappy?  She  is  young, 
beautiful,  loving;  my  dear  friend,  do  you  wonder  that  she  has  a 
sweetheart  ? — and  one  who  is  so  worthy  of  her,  too  :  one  who  is 
not  selfish,  who  has  courage,  who  will  be  kind  to  her.  Then  I 
said  to  myself,  'Ah,  what  a  pity  to  have  father  and  daughter 
opposed  to  each  other!'  Why  might  not  one  step  in  and  say, 
'  Come,  and  be  friends.  You  love  each  other :  do  not  have  this 
coldness  that  makes  a  young  heart  so  miserable  !'  " 


252  SUNRISE. 

She  had  talked  quickly  and  eagerly  at  last ;  she  was  trembling 
with  excitement ;  she  had  her  eyes  fixed  on  his  face  to  catch  the 
first  symptom  of  acquiescence. 

But,  on  the  contrary,  Mr.  Lind  remained  quite  impassive,  and 
he  said,  coldly, 

"  This  is  a  different  matter  altoo;ether,  Madame  Potecki.  I  do 
not  blame  you  for  interfering ;  but  I  must  tell  you  at  once  that 
your  interference  is  not  likely  to  be  of  much  use.  You  see,  there 
are  reasons  which  I  cannot  explain  to  you,  but  which  are  very 
serious,  why  any  proposal  of  marriage  between  Mr.  Brand  and 
Natalie  is  not  to  be  entertained  for  a  moment.  The  thing  is 
quite  impossible.  Very  well.  She  knows  this ;  she  knows  that 
I  wish  all  communication  between  them  to  cease;  nevertheless, 
she  says  she  will  see  him  every  day  until  he  goes,  llow  can  you 
wonder  that  she  is  unhappy  ?     Is  it  not  her  own  doing  ?" 

"  If  she  was  in  reality  my  child,  that  is  not  the  way  I  would 
speak,"  said  the  little  woman,  boldly. 

"  Unfortunately,  my  dear  Madame  Potecki,"  said  Mr.  Lind, 
blandly,  "  I  cannot,  as  I  say,  explain  to  you  the  reasons  which 
make  such  a  marriage  impossible,  or  you  yourself  would  say  it 
was  impossible.  Very  well,  then.  If  you  wish  to  do  a  service  to 
your  friend  Natalie — if  you  wish  to  see  her  less  unhappy,  you 
know  what  advice  to  give  her.  A  girl  who  perseveres  in  wilful 
disobedience  is  not  likely  to  be  very  contented  in  her  mind." 

Madame  Potecki  sat  silent  and  perplexed.  This  man  seemed  so 
firm,  so  reasonable,  so  assured,  it  was  apparently  hopeless  to  ex- 
pect any  concession  from  him.  And  yet  what  was  the  use  of  her 
going  away  merely  to  repeat  the  advice  she  had  already  given  ? 

"And  in  any  case,"  he  continued,  lightly,  "it  is  not  an  affair 
for  you  to  be  deeply  troubled  about,  my  dear  Madame  Potecki ; 
on  the  contrary,  it  is  a  circumstance  of  little  moment.  If  Natalie 
chooses  to  indulge  this  sentiment — well,  the  fate  of  empires  does 
not  hang  on  it,  and  in  a  little  while  it  will  be  all  riglit.  Youth 
soon  recovers  from  small  disappointments ;  the  girl  is  not  morbid 
or  melancholy.  Moreover,  she  has  plenty  to  occupy  her  mind 
with  :  dq  not  fear  that  she  will  be  permanently  unhaj)py." 

All  this  gave  Natalie's  friend  but  scant  consolation.  She  knew 
something  of  the  girl ;  she  knew  it  was  not  a  light  matter  that 
had  made  her  resolve  to  share  banishment  with  her  lover  rather 
than  that  he  should  depart  alone. 


INTERVENTION.  253 

"Yes,  she  is  acting  contrary  to  my  wislies,"  continued  Mr.  Lind, 
who  saw  tliat  his  visitor  was  anxious  and  chai:;rinfd.  "  JJut  why 
should  you  vex  yourself  with  that,  my  dear  lujulaine  ? — why,  in- 
deed ?  It  is  only  for  a  few  days.  When  Mr.  Brand  leaves  for 
America,  then  she  will  settle  down  to  her  old  ways.  This  episode 
of  sentiment  will  soon  be  forgotten.  Do  not  fear  for  your  friend 
Natalie ;  she  has  a  healthy  constitution  ;  she  is  not  likely  to  sigh 
away  her  life." 

"But  you  do  not  understand,  Mr.  Lind!"  Madame  Potecki  ex- 
claimed, suddenly.  "  You  do  not  understand.  When  he  leaves 
for  America,  there  is  to  be  an  end  ?  No !  You  are  not  aware, 
then,  that  if  he  goes  to  America,  Natalie  will  go  also?" 

She  had  spoken  quickly,  breathlessly,  not  taking  much  notice 
of  her  words ;  but  she  was  appalled  by  the  effect  they  produced. 
Lind  started,  as  if  he  had  been  struck ;  and  for  a  second,  as  he 
regarded  her,  the  eyes  set  under  the  heavy  brows  burnt  like  coals, 
and  she  noticed  a  curious  paleness  in  his  face,  especially  in  the 
lips.  But  this  lasted  only  for  an  instant.  When  he  spoke,  he 
was  quite  calm,  and  was  apparently  considering  each  word. 

"Are  you  authorized  to  bring  me  this  message?"  be  said, 
slowly. 

"  Oh  no ;  oh  no  !"  the  little  Avoman  exclaimed.  "  I  assure  you, 
my  dear  friend,  I  came  to  you  because  I  thought  something  was 
about  to  happen — sometliing  that  might  be  prevented.  Ah,  you 
don't  know  how  I  love  that  darling  child ;  and  to  see  her  unhap- 
py, and  resolved,  perhaps,  to  make  some  great  mistake  in  lier  life, 
how  could  I  help  interfering?" 

"  So,"  continued  Lind,  apparently  weighing  every  word,  "  this 
is  what  she  is  bent  on  !  If  Brand  goes  to  America,  she  will  go 
with  him  ?" 

"  I — 1 — am  afraid  so,"  stammered  Madame  Potecki.  "  That 
is  what  I  gathered  from  her — though  it  was  only  an  imaginary 
case  she  spoke  of.  But  she  was  pale,  and  trembling,  and  how 
could  I  stand  by  and  not  do  something  ?" 

He  did  not  answer ;  his  lips  were  firm  set.  Unconsciously  he 
was  pressing  the  point  of  the  paper-knife  into  the  leather;  it 
snapped  in  two.  He  threw  the  pieces  aside,  and  said,  with  a 
sudden  lightness  of  manner, 

"Ah,  well,  my  dear  madame,  you  know  young  people  are  some- 
times very  headstrong,  and  difficult  to   manage.     We  must  see 


254  SUNRISE. 

what  can  be  done  in  this  case.  You  liave  not  told  Natalie  you 
■were  coming  to  me  ?" 

"  No.  She  asked  me  at  first ;  then  she  said  she  would  tell  you 
herself." 

He  regarded  her  for  a  second. 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  you  should  say  you  have  been  here  ?" 

"  Perhaps  not,  perhaps  not,"  Madame  Potecki  said,  doubtfully. 
"  No ;  there  is  no  necessity.  But  if  one  were  sure  that  the  dear 
child  were  to  be  made  any  happier — " 

She  did  not  complete  the  sentence. 

"  I  think  you  may  leave  the  whole  affair  in  my  hands,  my  dear 
Madame  Potecki,"  said  Liud,  in  his  usual  courteous  fashion.  He 
spoke,  indeed,  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  the  most  trifling  impor- 
tance. "  I  think  I  can  promise  you  that  Natalie  shall  not  be.  al- 
lowed to  imperil  the  happiness  of  her  life  by  taking  any  rash 
step.  In  the  mean  time,  I  am  your  debtor  that  you  have  come 
and  told  me.  It  was  considerate  of  you,  Madame  Potecki ;  I  am 
obliged  to  you." 

The  little  woman  was  practically  dismissed.  She  rose,  still 
doubtful,  and  hesitated.     But  what  more  could  she  say  ? 

"  I  am  not  to  tell  her,  then  ?"  she  said. 

"  If  you  please,  not." 

When  he  had  graciously  bowed  her  out,  he  returned  to  his  seat 
at  the  desk ;  and  then  the  forced  courtesy  of  his  manner  was 
abandoned.  His  brows  gathered  down ;  his  lips  were  again  firm 
set ;  he  bent  one  of  the  pieces  of  the  paper-knife  until  that  snap- 
ped too  ;  and  when  some  one  knocked  at  the  door,  he  answered 
sharply  in  German. 

It  was  Gathorne  Edwards  who  entered. 

"  Well,  you  have  got  back  ?"  he  said,  with  but  scant  civility. 
"Where  is  Calabressa?" 

The  tall,  pale,  stooping  man  looked  round  with  some  caution. 

"There  is  no  one — no  one  but  Reitzei,"  said  Lind,  impatiently. 

"  Calabressa  is  detained  in  Naples — the  General's  orders,"  said 
the  other,  in  rather  a  low  voice.  "  I  did  not  write — I  thought  it 
was  not  safe  to  put  anything  on  paper ;  more  especially  as  we 
discovered  that  Kirski  was  being  watched." 

"No  wonder,"  said  Lind,  scornfully.  "A  fool  of  a  madman 
being  taken  about  by  a  fool  of  a  mountebank !" 

Edwards  stared  at  him.     Surely  this  man,  who  was  usually  the 


INTEKVENTION.  255 

most  composed,  and  impenetrable,  and  suave  of  men,  must  have 
been  considerably  annoyed  thus  to  give  way  to  a  petulant  tem- 
per. 

"  But  the  result,  Edwards :  well  ?" 

"  Refused !" 

Lind  laughed  sardonically. 

"Who  could  have  doubted?  Of  course  the  Council  do  not 
think  that  I  approved  of  that  mad  scheme?" 

"At  all  events,  sir,"  said  Edwards,  submissively,  "  you  per- 
mitted it." 

"Permitted  it!  Yes;  to  please  old  Calabressa,  who  imagines 
himself  a  diplomatist.  But  who  could  have  doubted  what  the 
end  would  be  ?     Well,  what  further  r 

"  I  understand  that  a  message  is  on  its  way  to  you  from  the 
Council,"  said  the  other,  speaking  in  still  lower  tones,  "giving 
further  instructions.  They  consider  it  of  great  importance  that 
— it — should  be  done  by  one  of  the  English  section ;  so  that  no 
one  may  imagine  it  arises  from  a  private  revenge." 

Lind  was  toying  with  one  of  the  pieces  of  the  broken  paper- 
knife. 

"  Zaccatelli  has  had  the  warning,"  Edwards  continued.  "Gra- 
naglia  took  it.  The  Cardinal  is  mad  with  fright — will  do  any- 
thing." 

Lind  seemed  to  rouse  himself  with  an  effort. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  friend  Edwards.  I  did  not  hear.  What 
were  you  saying?" 

"  I  was  saying  that  the  Cardinal  had  had  the  decree  announced 
to  him,  and  is  mad  with  fear,  and  he  will  do  anything,  lie  offers 
thirty  thousand  lire  a  year;  not  only  that,  but  he  will  try  to  get 
his  Holiness  to  give  his  countenance  to  the  Society.  Fancy,  as 
Calabressa  says,  what  the  world  would  say  to  an  alliance  between 
the  Vatican  and  the  Society  of  the  Seven  Staks  !" 

Lind  seemed  incapable  of  paying  attention  to  this  new  visitor, 
so  absorbed  was  he  in  his  own  thoughts.  lie  had  again  to  rouse 
himself  forcibly. 

"Yes,"  he  said;  "you  were  saying,  friend  Edwards,  that  the 
Starving  Cardinal  had  become  aware  of  the  decree.  Yes;  well, 
then  ?" 

"Did  you  not  hear,  sir?  He  thinks  there  should  be  an  alli- 
ance between  the  Vatican  and  the  Society." 


256  SUNRISE. 

''  His  Eminence  is  jocular,  considering  how  near  he  is  to  the 
end  of  liis  life,"  said  Lind,  absently. 

"  Further,"  Edwards  continued,  "  he  has  sent  back  the  daugh- 
ter of  old  De  Bedros,  who,  it  seems,  first  claimed  the  decree 
against  him  ;  and  he  is  to  give  her  a  dowry  of  ten  thousand  lire 
when  she  marries.  But  all  these  promises  and  proposals  do  not 
seem  to  have  weighed  much  with  the  Council." 

Here  Edwards  stopped.  He  perceived  plainly  that  Lind — 
who  sat  with  his  brows  drawn  down,  and  a  sombre  look  on  his 
face — was  not  listening  to  him  at  all.  Presently  Lind  rose,  and 
said, 

"My  good  Edwards,  I  have  some  business  of  serious  impor- 
tance to  attend  to  at  once.  Now  you  will  give  me  the  report  of 
your  journey  some  other  time.     To-night — at  nine  o'clock?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  if  that  will  suit  you." 

*'  Can  you  come  to  my  house  in  Curzon  Street  at  nine  ?" 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

"  Very  well.  I  am  your  debtor.  But  stay  a  moment.  Of 
course,  I  understand  from  you  that  nothing  that  has  happened 
interferes  with  the  decree  against  our  excellent  friend  the  Car- 
dinal?" 

"  So  it  appears." 

"  The  Council  are  not  to  be  bought  over  by  idle  promises  ?" 

"Apparently  not." 

"  Very  well.  Then  you  will  come  to-night  at  nine ;  in  my 
little  study  there  will  be  no  interruption ;  you  can  give  me  all 
the  details  of  your  holiday.  Ha,  my  friend  Edwards,"  he  added, 
more  pleasantly,  as  he  opened  the  door  for  his  visitor,  "  would  it 
not  be  better  for  you  to  give  up  that  Museum  altogether,  and 
come  over  to  us  ?  Then  you  would  have  many  a  pleasant  little 
trip." 

"  I  suspect  the  Museum  is  most  likely  to  give  me  up,"  said 
Edwards,  with  a  laugh,  as  he  descended  the  narrow  twilight  stairs. 

Then  Lind  returned  to  his  desk,  and  sat  down.  A  quarter  of 
an  hour  afterward,  when  Reitzei  came  into  the  room,  he  found 
him  still  sitting  there,  without  any  papers  whatsoever  before 
him.  The  angry  glance  that  Lind  directed  to  him  as  he  entered 
told  him  that  the  master  did  not  wish  to  be  disturbed ;  so  he 
picked  up  a  book  of  reference  by  way  of  excuse,  and  retreated 
into  the  farther  room,  leaving  Lind  once  more  alone. 


AN    E>'COUNT£K.  257 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

AN    ENCOUNTER. 

This  was  an  October  morning,  in  the  waning  of  the  year ;  and 
yet  so  bright  and  clear  and  fresh  was  it,  even  in  the  middle  of 
London,  that  one  could  have  imagined  the  spring  had  returned. 
The  world  was  full  of  a  soft  diffused  light,  from  the  pale  clouds 
sailing  across  the  blue  to  the  sheets  of  silver  widening  out  on  the 
broad  bosuni  of  the  Thames ;  but  here  and  there  the  sun  caught 
some  shining  surface — the  lip  of  a  marble  fountain,  the  glass  of 
a  lamp  on  the  Embankment,  or  the  harness  of  some  merchant- 
prince's  horses  prancing  into  town — and  these  were  sharp  jewel- 
like gleams  amidst  the  vague  general  radiance.  The  air  was  sweet 
and  clear ;  the  white  steam  blown  from  the  engines  on  Hunger- 
ford  Bridge  showed  that  the  wind  was  westerly.  Two  lovers 
walked  below,  in  the  Embankment  gardens,  probably  listening 
but  little  to  the  murmur  of  the  great  city  around  them.  Surely 
the  spring  had  come  again,  and  youth  and  love  and  hope !  The 
solitary  occupant  of  this  chamber  that  overlooked  the  gardens 
and  the  shining  river  did  not  stay  to  ask  why  his  heart  should  be 
so  full  of  gladness,  why  this  beautiful  morning  should  yield  him 
so  much  delight.  He  was  thinking  chiefly  that  on  such  a  morn- 
ing Natalie  would  be  abroad  soon ;  she  loved  the  sunli<'''ht  and 
the  sweet  air. 

It  was  far  too  fine  a  morning,  indeed,  to  spend  in  a  museum, 
even  with  all  Madame  Potecki's  treasures  spread  out  before  one. 
So,  instead  of  going  to  South  Kensington,  he  went  straight  up  to 
Curzon  Street.  Early  as  he  was,  he  was  not  too  early,  for  he  was 
leisurely  walking  along  the  pavement  when,  ahead  of  him,  he  saw 
Natalie  and  her  little  maid  come  forth  and  set  out  westward.  He 
allowed  them  to  reach  the  park  gates ;  then  he  overtook  them. 
Anneli  fell  a  little  way  behind. 

Now,  whether  it  was  that  the  brightness  of  the  morning  had 
raised  her  spirits,  or  that  she  had  been  reasoning  herself  into  a 
more  courageous  frame  of  mind,  it  was  soon  very  clear  that  Nat- 


258  SUNRISE. 

alie  was  not  at  all  so  anxious  and  embarrassed  as  she  had  shown 
herself  the  day  before  when  they  parted. 

"  There  was  no  letter  from  you  this  morning,"  she  said,  with  a 
smile,  though  she  did  not  look  up  into  his  face.  "  Then  I  have 
offered  myself  to  you,  and  am  refused?" 

"  How  could  I  write  ?"  he  said.  "  I  tried  once  or  twice,  and 
then  I  saw  I  must  wait  until  I  could  tell  you  face  to  face  all  that 
I  think  of  your  bravery  and  your  goodness.  And  now  that  I  see 
you,  Natalie,  it  is  not  a  bit  better:  I  can't  tell  you;  I  am  so  happy 
to  be  near  you,  to  be  beside  you,  and  hear  your  voice,  that  I  don't 
think  I  can  say  anything  at  all." 

"  I  am  refused,  then  ?"  said  she,  shyly. 

"  Refused  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  There  are  some  things  one  can- 
not refuse — like  the  sunshine.  But  do  you  know  what  a  terrible 
sacrifice  you  are  making  ?" 

"  It  is  you,  then,  who  are  making  no  sacrifice  at  all,"  she  said, 
reproachfully.  "  What  do  I  sacrifice  more  than  every  girl  must 
sacrifice  when  she  marries  ?  England  is  not  my  home  as  it  is  your 
home ;  we  have  lived  everywhere ;  I  have  no  childhood's  friends 
to  leave,  as  many  a  girl  has." 

"  Your  father—  " 

"After  a  little  while  my  father  will  scarcely  miss  me ;  he  is  too 
busy." 

But  presently  she  added, 

"  If  you  had  remained  in  England  I  should  never  have  been 
your  wife." 

"  Why  ?"  he  said,  with  some  surprise. 

"  I  should  never  have  married  against  my  father's  wishes,"  she 
said,  thoughtfully.  "  No.  My  promise  to  you  was  that  I  would 
be  your  wife,  or  the  wife  of  no  one.  I  would  have  kept  that 
promise.  But  as  long  as  we  could  have  seen  each  other,  and  been 
with  each  other  from  time  to  time,  I  don't  think  I  could  have 
married  against  my  father's  wish.  Now  it  is  quite  different. 
Your  going  to  America  has  changed  it  all.  Ah,  my  dear  friend, 
you  don't  know  what  I  suffered  one  or  two  nights  before  I  could 
decide  what  was  right  for  me  to  do  !" 

"  I  can  guess,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  in  answer  to  that  brief 
sigh  of  hers. 

Then  she  grew  more  cheerful  in  manner. 

"But  that  is  all  over;  and  now,  am  I  accepted?     I  think  you 


AN    ENCOUNTER.  259 

are  like  Naomi :  it  was  only  when  she  saw  that  Ruth  was  very 
doteriuincd  to  2^0  with  her  that  she  left  off  proti'stino^.  And  I 
am  to  consider  America  as  my  future  home  ?  Well,  at  all  events, 
one  will  be  able  to  breathe  freely  there.  It  is  not  a  country 
weighed  down  with  standing  armies  and  conscriptions  and  fortifi- 
cations. How  could  one  live  in  a  town  like  Coblentz,  or  Metz,  or 
Brest?  The  poor  wretches  marching  this  way  and  marching  that 
— you  watch  them  from  your  hotel  window — the  young  men  and 
the  middle-aged  men — and  you  know  that  they  would  rather  be 
away  at  their  farms,  or  in  their  factories,  or  saw-pits,  or  engine- 
houses,  working  for  their  wives  and  children — " 

"  Natalie,"  said  he,  with  a  smile,  "  you  are  only  half  a  woman  : 
you  don't  care  about  military  glory." 

"It  is  the  most  mean,  the  most  cruel  and  contemptible  thing 
under  the  sun!"  she  said,  passionately.  "What  is  the  quality 
that  makes  a  great  hero — a  great  general — nowadays?  Cour- 
age ?  Not  a  bit.  It  is  callousness  ! — an  absolute  indifference  to 
the  slaughtering  of  human  lives !  You  sit  in  your  tent — you  sit 
on  horseback — miles  away  from  the  fighting ;  and  if  the  poor 
wretches  are  being  destroyed  here  or  there  in  too  great  quanti- 
ties, if  they  are  ridden  down  by  the  horses  and  torn  to  pieces 
by  the  mitrailleuses,  '  Oh,  clap  on  another  thousand  or  two:  the 
place  must  be  taken  at  all  risks.'  Yes,  indeed ;  but  not  much 
risk  to  you  !  For  if  you  fail — if  all  the  thousands  of  men  have 
been  hurled  against  the  stone  and  lead  only  to  be  thrown  back 
crushed  and  murdered — why,  you  have  fought  with  great  courage 
— rjou,  the  great  general,  sitting  in  your  saddle  miles  away ;  it  is 
you  who  have  shown  extraordinary  courage! — but  numbers  were 
against  you :  and  if  you  win,  you  have  shown  still  greater  cour- 
age ;  and  the  audacity  of  the  movement  was  so  and  so ;  and  your 
dogged  persistence  was  so  and  so ;  and  you  get  another  star  for 
your  breast;  and  all  the  world  sings  your  praises.  And  who  is 
to  court-martial  a  great  hero  for  reckless  waste  of  human  life  ? 
Who  is  to  tell  him  that  he  is  a  cruel-hearted  coward  ?  Who  is 
to  take  him  to  the  fields  he  has  saturated  with  blood,  and  compel 
him  to  count  the  corpses  ;  or  take  him  to  the  homesteads  he  has 
ruined  throughout  the  land,  and  ask  the  women  and  the  sons  and 
the  daughters  what  they  think  of  his  marvellous  courage?  Oh 
no ;  lie  is  away  back  at  the  capital — there  is  a  triumphal  proces- 
sion; all  we  want  now  is  another  war-tax — for  the  peasant  must 


260  SUNRISE. 

pay  with  his  money  as  well  as  with  his  blood — and  another  levy 
of  the  young-  men  to  be  taken  away  and  Icilled !" 

This  was  always  a  sore  point  with  Natalie  ;  and  he  did  not  seek 
to  check  her  enthusiasm  with  any  commonplace  and  obvious 
criticisms.  When  she  got  into  one  of  these  moods  of  proud 
indignation,  which  was  not  seldom,  he  loved  her  all  the  more. 
There  was  something  in  the  ring  of  her  voice  that  touched  him 
to  the  heart.  Such  noble,  quick,  generous  sympathy  seemed  to 
him  far  too  beautiful  and  rare  a  thing  to  be  met  by  argument  and 
analysis.  When  he  heard  that  pathetic  tremulousness  in  her 
voice,  he  was  ready  to  believe  anything.  When  he  looked  at  the 
proud  lips  and  the  moistened  eyes,  what  cause  that  had  won  such 
eloquent  advocacy  would  he  not  have  espoused? 

"  Ah,  well,  Natalie,"  said  he,  "  some  day  the  mass  of  the  people 
of  the  earth  will  be  brought  to  sec  that  all  that  can  be  put  a  stop 
to,  if  they  so  choose.  They  have  the  power :  Zahlen  regieren  die 
Welt;  and  how  can  one  be  better  employed  than  in  spreading 
abroad  knowledge,  and  showing  the  poorer  people  of  the  earth 
how  the  world  might  be  governed  if  they  would  only  ally  them- 
selves together?  It  would  be  more  easy  to  persuade  them  if  we 
had  all  of  us  your  voice  and  your  enthusiasm." 

"  Mine  ?"  she  said.  "  A  woman's  talking  is  not  likely  to  be  of 
much  use.  But,"  she  added,  rather  hesitatingly,  "at  least  —  she 
can  give  her  sympathy — and  her  love — to  those  who  are  doing- 
the  real  work." 

"  And  I  am  going  to  earn  yours,  Natalie,"  said  he,  cheerfully, 
"  to  such  a  degree  as  you  have  never  dreamed  of,  when  you  and  I 
together  are  away  in  the  new  world.  And  that  reminds  me : 
now  you  must  not  be  frightened ;  but  there  is  a  little  difficulty. 
Of  course  you  thought  of  nothing,  when  you  wrote  those  lines, 
but  of  doing  a  kindness ;  that  was  like  you ;  your  heart  speaks 
quickly.      Well—" 

He  himself  seemed  somewhat  embarrassed. 

"  You  sec,  Natalie,  there  would  be  no  difficulty  at  all  if  you 
and  I  could  get  married  within  the  next  few  days." 

Her  eyes  were  cast  down,  and  she  was  silent. 

"  You  don't  think  it  possible  you  could  get  your  father  to  con- 
sent?" he  said,  but  without  much  hope. 

"  Oh  no,  I  think  not ;  I  fear  not,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Then  you  see,  NataUe,"  he  continued  —  and  he  spoke  quite 


AN    ENCOUNTER.  261 

lightly, as  if  It  was  merely  an  affair  of  a  moment — "there  would 
be  this  little  awkwardness:  you  are  not  of  age;  unless  yuu  get 
your  father's  consent,  you  cannot  marry  until  you  are  twenty-one. 
It  is  not  a  long  time — " 

"I  did  not  think  of  it,"  she  said,  vx-ry  hurriedly,  and  even 
breathlessly.  "  I  only  thought  it — it  seemed  hard  you  should  go 
away  alone — and  I  considered  myself  already  your  wife — and  I 
said,  '  What  ought  I  to  do  V  And  now — now  you  will  tell  me 
what  to  do.     I  do  not  know — I  have  no  one  to  ask." 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  he,  after  a  pause,  "  that  you  would  for- 
get me,  if  you  were  to  remain  two  years  in  England  while  I  was 
in  America  ?" 

She  regarded  him  for  a  moment  with  those  laro-e,  true  eves  of 
hers ;  and  she  did  not  answer  in  words. 

"There  is  another  way;  but — it  is  asking  too  much,"  he  said. 

"  What  is  it?"  she  said,  calmly. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  he  said,  with  some  hesitation,  "  that  if  I 
could  bribe  Madame  Potecki  to  leave  her  music-lessons — and  take 
charge  of  you  —  and  bring  vou  to  America  —  and  vou  and  she 
might  live  there  until  you  were  twenty-one — but  I  sec  it  is  im- 
possible. It  is  too  selfish.  I  should  not  have  thought  of  it. 
"What  are  two  years,  Natalie  ?" 

The  girl  answered  nothing;  she  was  thinking  deeply.  When 
she  next  spoke,  it  was  about  Lord  Evelyn,  and  of  the  probability 
of  his  crossing  to  the  States,  and  remaining  there  for  a  year  or 
two ;  and  she  wanted  to  know  more  about  the  great  country 
beyond  the  seas,  and  what  was  Philadelphia  like. 

Well,  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  these  two,  so  busy  with 
their  own  affairs,  were  likely  to  notice  much  that  was  passing 
around  them,  as  the  forenoon  sped  rapidly  away,  and  Natalie  had 
to  think  of  getting  home  again.  But  the  little  German  maid- 
servant was  not  so  engrossed.  She  was  letting  her  clear,  obsei'v- 
ant  blue  eyes  stray  from  the  pretty  young  ladies  riding  in  the 
Row  to  the  people  walking  under  the  trees,  and  from  them  again 
to  the  banks  of  the  Serpentine,  where  the  dogs  were  barking  at 
the  ducks.  In  doing  so  she  happened  to  look  a  little  bit  behind 
her;  then  suddenly  she  started,  and  said  to  herself, '//ip;-;-  JeP 
But  the  little  maid  had  her  wits  about  her.  She  pretended  to 
have  seen  nothing.  Gradually,  however,  she  lessened  the  distance 
between  herself  and  her  young  mistress ;  then,  when  she  was  quite 


262  SUNRISE, 

up  to  her,  and  walking  abreast  with  her,  she  said,  in  a  low,  quick 
voice, 

"  Fraulein  !  Frauloin  !" 

"  What  is  it,  Anneli  ?" 

George  Brand  was  listening  too.  He  wondered  that  the  girl 
seemed  so  excited,  and  yet  spoke  low,  and  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on 
the  ground. 

"  Ah,  do  not  look  round,  Fraulein  !"  said  she,  in  the  same  hur- 
ried way.  "Do  not  look  round!  Bat  it  is  the  lady  who  gave 
you  the  locket.  She  is  walking  by  the  lake.  She  is  watching 
you." 

Natalie  did  not  look  round.  She  turned  to  her  companion, 
and  said,  without  any  agitation  whatever, 

"  Do  you  remember,  dearest  ?  I  showed  you  the  locket,  and 
told  you  about  my  mysterious  visitor.  Now  Anneli  says  she  is 
walking  by  the  side  of  the  lake.  I  may  go  and  speak  to  her,  may 
I  not  ?  Because  it  was  so  wicked  of  Calabressa  to  say  some  one 
had  stolen  the  locket,  and  wished  to  restore  it  after  many  years. 
I  never  had  any  such  locket." 

She  was  talking  quite  carelessly ;  it  was  Brand  himself  who 
was  most  perturbed.  He  knew  well  who  that  stranger  must  be, 
if  Anneli's  sharp  eyes  had  not  deceived  her. 

"  No,  Natalie,"  he  said,  quickly,  "  you  must  not  go  and  speak 
to  her ;  and  do  not  look  round,  either.  Perhaps  she  does  not 
wish  to  be  seen  :  perhaps  she  would  go  away.  Leave  it  to  me, 
my  darling;  I  will  find  out  all  about  her  for  you." 

"  But  it  is  very  strange,"  said  the  girl.  "  I  shall  begin  to  be 
afraid  of  this  emissary  of  Santa  Clans  if  she  continues  to  be  so 
mysterious;  and  I  do  not  like  mystery:  I  think,  dearest,  I  must 
go  and  speak  to  her.  She  cannot  mean  me  any  harm.  She  has 
brought  me  fiowers  again  and  again  on  my  birthday,  if  it  is  the 
same.  She  gave  me  the  little  locket  I  showed  you.  Why  may 
not  I  stop  and  speak  to  her  ?" 

"  Not  now,  my  darling,"  he  said,  putting  his  hand  on  her  arm. 
"  Let  me  find  out  about  her  first." 

"And  how  are  you  going  to  do  that?  In  a  few  minutes,  per- 
haps, she  goes  away ;  and  when  will  you  see  her  again  ?  It  is 
many  months  since  Anneli  saw  her  last;  and  Anneli  sees  every- 
thing and  everybody." 

"  We  will  cross  the  bridge,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice,  for  he  knew 


AN    ENCOUNTER.  263 

not  how  near  the  stranger  miiijlit  be,  "  and  walk  on  to  Park  Lane. 
Anneli  iiuist  toll  us  how  far  she  follows.  If  she  turns  aside  any- 
where 1  will  bid  you  good-bye  and  see  where  she  goes.  Do  you 
understand,  Natalie?" 

She  certainly  did  not  understand  why  he  should  speak  so  seri- 
ously about  it. 

"And  I  am  to  be  marched  like  a  prisoner?  I  may  not  turn 
my  head  ?" 

She  began  to  be  amused.  lie  scarcely  knew  what  to  say  to 
her.     At  last  he  said,  earnestly, 

"  Natalie,  it  is  of  great  importance  to  you  that  I  should  see 
this  lady — that  I  should  try  to  see  her.  Do  as  I  bid  you,  my 
dearest." 

"Then  you  know  who  she  is?"  said  Natalie,  promptly. 

"  I  have  a  suspicion,  at  all  events ;  and — and — something  may 
happen — that  you  will  be  glad  of." 

"  What,  more  mysterious  presents  ?"  the  girl  said,  lightly ;  *'  more 
messages  from  Santa  Claus  ?" 

He  could  not  answer  her.  The  consciousness  that  this  misht 
be  indeed  Natalie's  mother  who  was  so  near  to  them ;  the  fear  of 
the  possible  consequences  of  any  sudden  disclosure ;  the  thought 
that  this  opportunity  might  escape  him,  and  he  leaving  in  a  few 
days  for  America :  all  these  things  whirled  through  his  brain  in 
rapid  and  painful  succession.  But  there  was  soon  to  be  an  end 
of  them.  Natalie,  still  obediently  following  his  instructions,  and 
yet  inclined  to  make  light  of  the  whole  thing,  and  himself  arrived 
at  the  gates  of  the  park ;  Anneli,  as  formerly,  being  somewhat  be- 
hind. Receiving  no  intimation  from  lior,  they  crossed  the  road 
to  the  corner  of  Great  Stanhope  Street.  But  they  had  not  pro- 
ceeded far  when  Anneli  said, 

"Ah,  Fraulein,  the  lady  has  gone!  You  may  look  after  her 
now.     See  I" 

That  was  enough  for  George  Brand.  lie  had  no  difficulty  in 
making  out  the  dark  figure  that  Anneli  indicated ;  and  he  was  in 
no  great  hurry,  for  he  feared  the  stranger  might  discover  that  she 
was  being  followed.  But  he  breathed  more  freely  when  he  had 
bidden  good-bye  to  Natalie,  and  seen  her  set  out  for  home. 

He  leisurely  walked  up  Park  Lane,  keeping  an  eye  from  time 
to  time  on  the  figure  in  black,  but  not  paying  too  strict  attention, 
lest  she  should  turn  suddenly  and  observe  him.     In  this  way  he 


264  SUNRISE. 

followed  her  np  to  Oxford  Street ;  and  there,  in  the  more  crowd- 
ed thoroughfare,  he  lessened  the  distance  between  them  consider- 
ably, lie  also  watched  more  closely  now,  and  with  a  strange  in- 
terest. From  the  graceful  carriage,  the  beautiful  figure,  he  was 
almost  convinced  that  that,  indeed,  was  Natalie's  mother;  and  he 
began  to  wonder  what  he  would  say  to  her — how  he  would  justi- 
fy his  interference. 

The  stranger  stopped  at  a  door  next  a  s'hop  in  the  Edgware 
Road  ;  knocked,  waited,  and  was  admitted.  Then  the  door  was 
shut  again. 

It  was  obviously  a  private  lodging-house.  He  took  a  half- 
crown  in  his  hand  to  bribe  the  maid-servant,  and  walked  boldly 
up  to  the  door  and  knocked.  It  was  not  a  maid-servant  who  an- 
swered, however;  it  was  a  man  who  looked  something  like  an 
English  butler,  and  yet  there  was  a  foreign  touch  about  his  dress 
—  probably.  Brand  thought,  the  landlord.  Brand  pulled  out  a 
card-case,  and  pretended  to  have  some  difliculty  in  getting  a  card 
from  it. 

"The  lady  who  came  in  just  now — "  he  said,  still  looking  at 
the  cards. 

"  Madame  Berezolyi  ?    Yes,  sir." 

His  heart  jumped.  But  he  calmly  took  out  a  pencil,  and  wrote 
on  one  of  the  cards,  in  French,  ^'One  who  knoivs  your  daughter 
would  like  to  see  you.'''' 

"  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  take  up  that  card  to  Madame  Bere- 
zolyi? I  think  she  will  see  me.  I  will  wait  here  till  you  come 
down." 

The  man  returned  in  a  couple  of  minutes. 

"  Madame  Berezolyi  will  be  pleased  to  see  you,  sir ;  will  you 
step  this  way  ?" 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE    MOTHER. 


This  beautiful,  pale,  trembling  mother:  she  stood  there,  dark 
ao-ainst  the  lio-ht  of  the  window;  but  even  in  the  shadow  how 
singularly  like  she  was  to  Natalie,  in  the  tall,  slender,  elegant  fig- 
ure, the  proud  set  of  the  head,  the  calm,  intellectual  brows,  and 


THE    MOTHER,  265 

the  lar^o,  tender,  dark  eyes,  as  soft  and  pathetic  as  tliosc  of  a  doe 
— only  tliis  woman's  face  was  worn  and  sad,  and  her  hair  was 
silver-gray. 

She  was  greatly  agitated,  and  for  a  second  or  two  incapable  of 
speech.  But  when  he  began  in  Frcncli  to  apologize  for  his  in- 
trusion, she  eagerly  interrupted  him. 

"  Ah  no,  no  !"  she  said,  in  the  same  tongue.  "  Do  not  waste 
words  in  apology.  You  have  come  to  tell  me  about  my  child, 
ray  Natalie:  Heaven  will  bless  you  for  it;  it  is  a  great  kindness. 
To-day  I  saw  you  walking  with  her — listening  to  her  voice — ali, 
liow  I  envied  you  ! — and  once  or  twice  I  thought  of  going  to 
her  and  taking  her  hand,  and  saying  only  one  word — '  Nata- 
lushka!'" 

"  That  would  have  been  a  great  imprudence,"  said  he,  gravely. 
"  If  you  wish  to  speak  to  your  daughter — " 

"If  I  wish  to  speak  to  her! — if  I  wish  to  speak  to  her!"  she 
exclaimed ;  and  there  were  tears  in  her  voice,  if  there  were  none 
in  the  sad  eyes. 

"  You  forget,  madame,  that  your  daughter  has  been  brouglit 
up  in  the  belief  that  you  died  when  she  \vas  a  mere  infant. 
Consider  the  eifect  of  any  sudden  disclosure." 

"  But  has  she  never  suspected  i  1  have  passed  her ;  she  has 
seen  me.     I  gave  her  a  locket :  what  did  she  think  ?" 

"She  was  puzzled,  yes;  but  how  would  it  occur  to  the  girl 
that  any  one  could  be  so  cruel  as  to  conceal  from  her  all  those 
years  the  fact  that  her  mother  was  alive  ?" 

"  Then  you  yourself,  monsieur — " 

"  I  knew  from  Calabressa." 

"  Ah,  my  old  friend  Calabressa !  And  he  was  here,  in  Lon- 
don, and  he  saw  my  Natalie.     Perhaps — " 

She  paused  for  a  second. 

"  Perhaps  it  was  he  who  sent  me  the  message.  I  heard — it 
was  only  a  word  or  two — that  my  daughter  had  found  a  lover." 

She  regarded  him.  She  had  the  same  calm  fearlessness  of 
look  that  dwelt  in  Natalie's  eyes. 

"You  will  pardon  me,  monsieur.  Do  I  guess  right?  It  is  to 
you  that  my  child  has  given  her  love?" 

"That  is  my  happiness,"  said  he.  "I  wish  I  were  better  wor 
thy  of  it." 

She  still  regarded  him  very  earnestly,  and  in  silence. 

12 


266  SUNRISE. 

"  "When  I  beard,"  she  said,  at  length,  in  a  low  voice,  "  that  my 
Natalie  had  given  her  love  to  a  stranger,  my  heart  sunk.  I  said, 
'More  than  ever  is  she  away  from  me  now;'  and  I  wondered 
what  the  stranger  might  be  like,  and  whether  he  would  be  kind 
to  her.  Now  that  I  see  you,  I  am  not  so  sad.  There  is  some- 
thing in  your  voice,  in  your  look,  that  tells  me  to  have  confi- 
dence in  you:  you  will  be  kind  to  Natalie." 

She  seemed  to  be  tliinking  aloud ;  and  yet  he  was  not  em- 
barrassed by  this  confession,  nor  yet  by  her  earnest  look ;  he 
perceived  how  all  her  thoughts  were  really  concentrated  on  her 
daughter. 

"  Her  father  approves  ?"  said  this  sad-faced,  gray-haired  woman. 

"  Oh  no  ;  quite  the  contrary." 

"But  he  is  kind  to  her?"  she  said,  quickly  and  anxiously. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  answered.  "  No  doubt  he  is  kind  to  her.  Who 
could  be  otherwise  ?" 

She  had  been  so  agitated  at  the  beginning  of  this  interview 
that  she  had  allowed  her  visitor  to  remain  standing.  She  now 
asked  him  to  be  seated,  and  took  a  chair  opposite  to  him.  Her 
nervousness  had  in  a  great  measure  disappeared;  though  at 
times  she  clasped  the  fingers  of  both  hands  together,  as  if  to 
force  herself  to  be  composed. 

"You  will  tell  me  all  about  it,  monsieur;  that  I  may  know 
what  to  say  when  I  speak  to  my  child  at  last.  Ah,  heavens,  if 
you  could  understand  how  full  my  heart  is:  sixteen  years  of  si- 
lence !  Think  what  a  mother  has  to  say  to  her  only  child  after 
that  time  !     It  was  cruel — cruel — cruel !" 

A  little  convulsive  sob  was  the  only  sign  of  her  emotion,  and 
the  fingers  were  clasped  together. 

"Pardon  me,  madame,"  said  he,  with  some  besitation  ;  "but, 
you  see,  I  do  not  know  the  circumstances — " 

"  You  do  not  know  why  I  dared  not  speak  to  my  own  daugh- 
ter?" she  said,  looking  up  in  surprise.  "Calabressa  did  not  tell 
you  ?" 

"No.  There  were  some  hints  I  did  not  understand." 
"  Nor  of  the  reasons  that  forced  me  to  comply  with  such  an 
inhuman  demand?  Alas!  these  reasons  exist  no  longer.  I  have 
done  my  duty  to  one  whose  life  was  sacred  to  me ;  now  his  death 
has  released  me  from  fear ;  I  come  to  my  daughter  now.  Ah, 
when  I  fold  her  to  my  heart,  what  shall  I  say  to  her — what  but 


THE    MOTHER.  267 

this? — '  Nataliislika,  if  your  motlier  has  remained  away  from  you 
all  these  years,  it  was  not  because  she  did  not  love  you.'  " 

He  drew  his  chair  nearer,  and  toolc  her  hand. 

"I  perceive  that  you  have  suffered,  and  deeply.  But  your 
daughter  will  niakt-  auieiids  to  you.  She  loves  you  now;  you 
are  a  saint  to  her;  your  portrait  is  her  dearest  possession — " 

"My  portrait  r'  she  said,  looking  rather  bewildered,  "  Iler 
father  has  not  forbidden  her  that,  then  T' 

"  It  was  Calabressa  who  gave  it  to  her  quite  recently." 

She  gently  withdrew  her  hand,  and  glanced  at  the  table,  on 
which  two  books  lay,  and  sighed. 

"The  English  tongue  is  so  difficult,"  she  said.  "And  1  have 
so  much — so  nuich — to  say!  I  have  written  out  many  things 
that  I  wish  to  tell  her;  and  have  repeated  them,  and  repeated 
them ;  but  the  sound  is  not  right — the  sound  is  not  like  what 
my  lieart  wishes  to  say  to  her." 

"  Reassure  yourself,  madanie,  on  that  point,"  said  he,  cheerful- 
ly;  "I  should  imagine  there  is  scarcely  any  language  in  Europe 
that  your  daughter  does  not  know  something  of.  You  will  not 
have  to  speak  English  to  her  at  all." 

She  looked  up  with  a  bright  eagerness  in  lier  eyes. 

"  But  not  Magyar  T 

"1  do  not  know  for  certain,"  he  said,  "for  I  don't  know  Mag- 
yar myself;  but  I  am  almost  convinced  she  must  know  it.  She 
has  told  me  so  much  about  her  countrymen  that  used  to  come 
about  the  house ;  yes,  surely  they  would  speak  Magyar." 

A  strange,  happy  light  came  into  the  woman's  face ;  she  was 
communing  with  herself — perhaps  going  over  mentally  some 
tender  phrases,  full  of  the  soft  vowel  sounds  of  the  Magyar 
tongue. 

"  That,"  said  she,  presently,  and  in  a  low  voice,  "  would  be  my 
crowning  joy.  I  have  thought  of  what  I  should  say  to  her  in 
many  languages;  but  always  'My  daughter,  I  love  you,'  did  not 
have  the  right  sound.  In  our  own  tongue  it  goes  to  the  heart. 
I  am  no  longer  afraid  :  my  girl  will  understand  me." 

"I  should  think,"  said  he,  "you  will  not  have  to  speak  much 
to  assure  her  of  your  love." 

She  seemed  to  become  a  great  deal  more  cheerful ;  this  matter 
had  evidently  been  weighing  on  her  mind. 

"  Meanwhile,"  she  said,  "  you  promised  to  tell  me  all  about 


268  SUNRISE. 

Natalie  and  yourself.     Her  father  does  not  approve  of  your  mar- 
rj-ino".     A^'ell,  his  reasons  ?" 

"If  he  has  any,  he  is  careful  to  keep  them  to  himself,"  he  said. 
"  But  I  can  o-uess  at  some  of  them.  No  doubt  he  would  rather 
not  have  Natalie  marry ;  it  would  depiive  him  of  an  excellent 
house-keeper.  Then  again — and  this  is  the  only  reason  he  does 
give — he  seems  to  consider  it  would  be  inexpedient  as  regards 
the  work  we  are  all  engaged  in — " 

"  You  !"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  start.  "  Are  you  in  the  So- 
ciety also  ?" 

"  Certainly,  madame." 

"  What  grade «" 

lie  told  her. 

"  Then  you  are  helpless  if  he  forbids  your  marriage." 

"On  the  contrary,  madame,  my  marriage  or  non- marriage 
has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  my  obedience  to  the  Soci- 
ety." 

"  He  has  control  over  Natalie — " 

"  Until  she  is  twenty-one,"  he  answered,  promptly. 

"  But,"  she  said,  regarding  him  with  some  apprehension  in  her 
eyes,  "  you  do  not  say — you  do  not  suggest — that  the  child  is 
opposed  to  her  father — that  she  thinks  of  marrying  you,  when 
she  may  legally  do  so,  against  his  wish  ?" 

"  My  dear  madame,"  said  he,  "  it  will  be  difficult  for  you  to 
understand  how  all  this  affair  rests  until  you  get  to  know  some- 
thing more  about  Natalie  herself.  She  is  not  like  other  girls. 
She  has  courage ;  she  has  opinions  of  her  own :  when  she  thinks 
that  such  and  such  a  thing  is  right,  she  is  not  afraid  to  do  it, 
whatever  it  may  be.  Now,  she  believes  her  father's  opposition 
to  be  unjust;  and — and  perhaps  there  is  something  else  that  has 
influenced  her :  well,  the  fact  is,  I  am  ordered  off  to  America,  and 
— and  the  girl  has  a  quick  and  generous  nature,  and  she  at  once 
offered  to  share  what  she  calls  my  banishment." 

"  To  leave  her  father's  house !"  said  the  mother,  with  increas- 
ing alarm. 

Brand  looked  at  her.  He  could  not  understand  thjs  expres- 
sion of  anxious  concern.  If,  as  he  was  beginning  to  assure  him- 
self, Lirid  was  the  cause  of  that  long  and  cruel  separation  be- 
tween iTiother  and  daughter,  why  should  this  woman  be  aghast 
at  the  notion   of  Natalie  leaving  such  a  guardian?     Or  was  it 


THE    MOTHER.  2G9 

merely  a  superstitious  fear  of  liiin,  similar  to  that  which  seemed 
to  possess  Calahrc'ssa  ? 

"Ill  dcaliiiij,-  with  jour  dauu'liter,  inadauie,"  he  cuutinued,  "one 
has  to  be  careful  uot  to  take  advautatjc  of  her  foriretfuluess  of 
herself.  She  is  too  willing  to  sacrifice  herself  for  others.  Now 
to-day  we  were  talking — as  she  is  not  free  to  marry  until  she  is 
twenty-oiio — about  her  perhaps  going  over  to  America  under  the 
guardianship  of  Madame  Potecki — '' 

"  Madame  Potecki." 

"She  is  a  friend  of  your  daughter's — almost  a  mother  to  her; 
and  I  am  not  sure  but  that  Natalie  would  willingly  do  that — 
more  especially  under  your  guardianship,  in  preference  to  that  of 
Madame  Potecki — "' 

"Oh  no,  no!"  she  exclaimed,  instantly.  "She  must  not  dare 
lier  father  like  that.  Oh,  it  would  be  terrible !  I  hope  you  will 
uot  allow  her." 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  daring :  the  girl  has  courage  enough 
for  anything,"  he  said,  coolly.  "  The  thing  is  that  it  would  in- 
volve too  great  a  sacrifice  on  her  part ;  and  I  was  exceedingly 
selfish  to  think  of  it  for  a  moment.  No ;  let  her  remain  in  her 
father's  house  until  she  is  free  to  act  as  her  own  mistress ;  then, 
if  she  will  come  to  me,  I  shall  take  care  that  a  proper  home  is 
provided  for  her.     She  must  not  be  a  wanderer  and  a  stranger." 

"  But  even  then,  when  she  is  free  to  act,  you  will  not  ask  her 
to  disobey  her  father?     Oh,  it  will  be  too  terrible  I" 

Again  he  regarded  her  with  amazement. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  madame  ?  What  is  terrible  ?  Or  is  it 
that  you  are  afraid  of  him  ?     Calabressa  spoke  like  that." 

"You  do  not  know  of  what  he  is  capable,"  she  said,  with  a 
sigh. 

"All  the  more  reason,"  he  said,  directly,  "why  she  should  be 
removed  from  his  guardianship.  But  permit  me  to  say,  madame, 
that  I  do  not  quite  share  your  ap})rehensions.  1  have  seen  noth- 
ing of  the  bogey  kind  about  your  husband.  Of  course,  he  is  a 
man  of  strong  will,  and  he  does  not  like  to  be  thwarted :  without 
that  strength  of  character  he  could  not  have  done  what  he  has 
done.  P)Ut  he  also  knows  that  his  daughter  is  no  longer  a  child; 
and  when  the  proper  time  comes  you  will  find  that  his  common- 
sense  will  lead  him  to  withdraw  an  opposition  which  would  other- 
wise be  futile.     Do  I  explain  myself  clearly?     My  dear  madame, 


270  SUNRISE. 

have  no  anxiety  about  the  future  of  your  daughter.  When  you 
see  herself,  when  yon  speak  to  her,  you  ^vill  find  that  she  is  one 
who  is  not  given  to  fear." 

For  the  moment  the  apprehensive  look  left  her  face.  She  re- 
mained silent,  a  happier  light  coming  into  her  eyes. 

"She  is  not  sad  and  sorrowful,  thcirr'  she  said,  presently. 

"  Oh  no  ;  she  is  too  brave." 

"What  beautiful  hair  she  has !"  said  this  Avorn-faced  woman 
with  the  sad  eyes.  "Ah,  many  a  time  I  have  said  to  myself  that 
when  I  take  her  to  my  heart  I  will  feel  the  beautiful  soft  hair;  I 
will  stroke  it;  her  head  will  lie  on  my  bosom,  and  I  will  gather 
courao'e  from  lier  eves:  when  she  laughs  mv  heart  will  rejoice! 
I  liave  lived  many  years  in  solitude — in  secret,  with  many  appre- 
hensions ;  perhaps  I  have  grown  timid  and  fearful ;  once  I  was 
not  so.  But  I  have  been  troubling  myself  with  fears;  I  have 
said,  'Ah,  if  she  looks  coldly  on  me,  if  she  turns  away  from  me, 
then  mv  heart  will  break!'" 

"  I  do  not  think  you  have  much  to  fear,"  said  he,  regarding  the 
beautiful,  sad  face. 

"I  have  tried  to  catch  the  sound  of  her  voice,"  she  continued, 
absently,  and  her  eyes  were  filled  with  tears,  "  but  I  could  not  do 
that.  But  I  have  watched  her,  and  followed  her,  and  wondered. 
She  does  not  seem  proud  and  cold." 

"  She  will  not  be  proud  or  cold  to  you,"  he  said,  "  when  she  is 
kindness  and  gentleness  to  all  the  world." 

"And — and  when  shall  you  see  her  again?"  she  asked,  timidly. 

"  Now,"  he  said.  "  If  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  go  to  her  at 
once.     I  will  bring  her  to  you." 

"Oh  no !"  she  exclaimed,  hastily  drying  her  eyes.  "Oh  no! 
She  must  not  find  a  sad  mother,  who  has  been  crying.  She  will 
be  repelled.  She  will  think,  'I  have  enough  of  sadness.'  Oh  no, 
you  must  let  me  collect  myself;  I  must  be  very  brave  and  cheer- 
ful when  my  Natalie  comes  to  me.  I  must  make  her  laugh,  not 
cry." 

"Madame,"  said  he,  gravely,  "I  may  have  but  a  few  days  longer 
in  England  :  do  you  think  it  is  wise  to  put  off  the  opportunity? 
You  see,  she  must  be  prepared ;  it  would  be  a  terrible  shock  if 
she  were  to  know  suddenly.  And  how  can  one  tell  what  may 
happen  to-morrow  or  next  day  ?  At  the  present  moment  I  know 
she  is  at  home ;  I  could  bring  her  to  you  directly." 


THE    MOTHER.  27l 

"Just  now?"  she  said;  ami  she  began  to  tremble  again.  Slie 
rose  a!id  went  to  a  iiiiiror. 

"She  could  not  recognize  licrsclf  in  mc  She  would  not  be- 
lieve me.  And  1  should  frighten  her  witii  my  mourning  and  m}' 
sadness." 

"  I  do  not  think  you  need  fear,  madame." 

She  turned  to  him  eagerly. 

"Perhaps  you  would  explain  to  her?  Ah,  would  you  be  so 
kind !  Tell  her  I  have  seen  much  trouble  of  late.  My  father  has 
just  died,  after  years  of  illness ;  and  \vc  were  kept  in  perpetual 
terror.  You  will  tell  her  why  I  dared  not  go  to  her  before :  oh 
no  !  not  that — not  that !" 

"  You  forget,  madame,  that  I  myself  do  not  know." 

"It  is  better  she  should  not  know  —  better  she  should  not 
know  !"  she  said,  rapidly.  "  No,  let  the  girl  have  confidence  in 
her  father  while  she  remains  in  his  house.  Perhaps  some  time 
she  may  know ;  perhaps  some  one  who  is  a  fairer  judge  than  I 
will  tell  her  the  story  and  make  excuses:  it  must  be  that  there  is 
some  excuse." 

"She  will  not  want  to  know;  she  will  onlv  want  to  come  to 
you." 

"  But  half  an  hour :  give  me  half  an  hour,"  she  said,  and  she 
glanced  round  the  room.     "  It  is  so  poor  a  chamber." 

"  She  will  not  think  of  the  chamber." 

"And  the  little  girl  with  her — she  will  remain  down-stairs,  will 
she  not?  I  wish  to  be  alone,  quite  alone,  wdth  my  child."  Her 
breath  came  and  went  quickly,  and  she  clasped  her  fingers  tight. 
"  Oh,  monsieur,  my  heart  will  break  if  my  child  is  cold  to  me !" 

"  That  is  the  last  thino-  you  have  to  fear,"  said  he,  and  he  rose. 
"Now  calm  yourself,  madame.  Recollect,  you  must  not  frighten 
your  daughter.  And  it  will  be  more  than  half  an  hour  before  I 
bring  her  to  you ;  it  will  take  more  than  that  for  me  to  break  it 
to  her." 

She  rose  also ;  but  she  was  obviously  so  excited  that  she  did 
not  know  well  what  she  was  doing.  All  her  thoughts  were  about 
the  forth-coming  interview. 

"You  are  sure  she  understands  the  Magyar?"  she  said  again. 

"  No,  I  do  not  know.     But  why  not  speak  in  French  to  her  T' 

"  It  does  not  sound  the  same — it  does  not  sound  the  same : 
and  a  mother — can  onlv — talk  to  her  child — " 


272  SUNRISE. 

"  Yon  must  calm  yourself,  dear  raadame.  Do  you  know  that 
your  (laughter  believes  you  to  have  been  a  miracle  of  courage  and 
self-reliance?  "What  Calabressa  used  to  say  to  her  was  this: 
'  Natalushka,  when  you  are  in  trouble  you  will  be  brave  :  you 
will  show  yourself  the  daughter  of  Natalie  Berezolyi.'  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  said,  quickly,  as  she  again  dried  her  eyes,  and 
drew  herself  up.  "  I  beg  you  to  pardon  me.  I  have  thought  so 
much  of  this  meeting,  through  all  these  years,  that  my  heart  beats 
too  quickly  now.  But  I  will  have  no  fear.  She  will  come  to  me ; 
I  am  not  afraid ;  she  will  not  turn  away  from  me.  And  how  am 
I  to  thank  you  for  your  great  kindness  ?"  she  added,  as  he  moved 
to  the  door. 

"By  being  kind  to  Xatalie  when  I  am  away  in  America,"  said 
he.     "  You  will  not  find  it  a  difficult  task." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE     VELVET     GLOVE, 


Ferdinand  Lind  sat  alone,  after  Gathorne  Edwards  had  gone, 
apparently  deep  buried  in  thought.  He  leaned  forward  over  his 
desk,  his  head  resting  on  his  left  hand,  while  in  his  right  hand  he 
held  a  pencil,  Avith  which  he  was  mechanically  printing  letters  on 
a  sheet  of  blotting-paper  before  him.  These  letters,  again  and 
again  repeated,  formed  but  one  phrase :  The  Velvet  Glove. 
It  was  as  if  he  were  perpetually  reminding  himself,  during  the 
turnings  and  twistings  of  his  sombre  speculations,  of  the  neces- 
sity of  being  prudent  and  courteous  and  suave.  It  was  as  if  he 
were  determined  to  imprint  the  caution  on  his  brain — drilling  it 
into  himself — so  that  in  no  possible  emergency  could  it  be  for- 
gotten. But  as  his  thoughts  went  farther  afield,  he  began  to  play 
with  the  letters,  as  a  child  might.  They  began  to  assume  dec- 
orations. The  Velvet  Glove  appeared  surrounded  with  stars ; 
again  furnished  with  duplicate  lines;  again  breaking  out  into 
rays.  At  length  he  rose,  tore  up  the  sheet  of  blotting-paper,  and 
rung  a  hand-bell  twice. 

Keitzei  appeared. 

"  Where  will  Beratinski  be  this  evening?" 


THE    VELVET    GLOVE.  273 

"  At  the  Culturverein  :  he  sups  there." 

"  You  and  lie  must  be  here  at  ten.  Tliere  is  business  of  im- 
portance." 

He  walked  across  the  room,  and  took  up  his  hat  and  stick. 
Perliaps  at  this  moment  the  caution  lie  had  been  drilling  into 
himself  suo-gested  some  further  word.  He  turned  to  Keitzei, 
who  had  advanced  to  take  his  place  at  the  desk. 

"I  mean  if  that  is  quite  convenient  to  you  both,"  he  said, 
courteously.     "  Eleven  o'clock,  if  you  please,  or  twelve?" 

"  Ten  will  be  quite  convenient,"  Reitzei  said. 

"  The  business  will  not  take  long." 

"Then  we  can  return  to  the  Culturverein:  it  is  an  exhibition 
nii^ht:  one  would  not  like  to  be  altogether  absent." 

These  sombre  musings  had  consumed  some  time.  When  Lind 
went  out  he  found  it  had  grown  dark ;  the  lamps  were  lit ;  the 
stream  of  life  was  flowing  westward.  But  he  seemed  in  no  great 
hurry,  lie  chose  unfrequented  streets;  he  walked  slowly;  there 
was  less  of  the  customary  spring  and  jauntiness  of  his  gait.  In 
about  half  an  hour  he  had  reached  the  door  of  Madame  Potecki's 
house. 

lie  stood  for  some  seconds  there  without  ringing.  Then,  as 
some  one  approached,  he  seemed  to  waken  out  of  a  trance.  He 
rung  sharply,  and  the  summons  was  almost  immediately  answered. 

Madame  Potecki  was  at  home,  he  learned,  but  she  was  dining. 

"Never  mind,"  said  he,  abruptly  ;  "she  will  see  me.  Go  and 
ask  her." 

A  couple  of  minutes  thereafter  he  was  shown  into  the  small 
parlor,  where  Madame  Potecki  had  just  risen  to  receive  him ;  and 
by  this  time  a  singular  change  had  come  over  his  manner. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — I  beg  a  thousand  pardons,  my  dear  Ma- 
dame Potecki,"  said  he,  in  the  kindest  way,  "  for  having  inter- 
rupted you.  Pray  continue.  I  shall  make  sure  you  forgive  me 
only  if  you  continue.  x\h,  that  is  well.  Now  I  will  take  a  chair 
also." 

Madame  Potecki  had  again  seated  herself,  certainly ;  but  she 
was  far  too  much  agitated  by  this  unexpected  visit  to  be  able  to 
go  on  with  her  repast.     She  was  alarmed  about  Natalie, 

"  You  are  surprised,  no  doubt,  at  my  coming  to  see  you,"  said 
he,  cheerfully  and  carelessly,  "so  soon  after  you  were  kind  enough 
to  call  on  me.     But  it  is  only  about  a  trifle  ;  I  assure  you,  my 

12* 


274  SUNRISE. 

dear  Madame  Potecki,  it  is  only  about  a  trifle,  and  I  must  there- 
fore insist  on  your  not  allowing-  your  dinner  to  get  cold." 

"But  if  it  is  about  Natalie—" 

"My  dear  uiadauie,  Natalie  is  very  well.  There  is  nothing  to 
alarm  you.  Now  you  will  go  on  with  your  dinner,  and  I  will  go 
on  with  my  talking." 

Thus  constrained,  madame  again  addressed  herself  to  the  small 
banquet  spread  out  before  her,  which  consisted  of  a  couple  of 
sausages,  some  piclded  endive,  a  piece  of  Camembert  cheese,  and 
a  tiny  bottle  of  Erlauer.  Mr.  Lind  turned  his  chair  to  the  tire, 
put  his  feet  on  the  fender,  and  lay  back.  He  was  rather  smartly 
dressed  this  evening,  and  he  was  pleasant  in  manner. 

"Natalie  ought  to  be  grateful  to  you,  madame,"  said  he,  lightly, 
"for  your  solicitude  about  her.  It  is  not  often  one  finds  that  in 
one  who  is  not  related  by  blood," 

"I  have  no  one  now  left  in  the  world  to  love  but  herself," 
said  madame ;  "  and  then,  you  see,  my  dear  friend  Lind,  her 
position  appeals  to  one:  it  is  sad  that  she  has  no  mother." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Lind,  with  a  trifle  of  impatience.  "  Now  you 
were  food  enough  to  come  and  tell  me  this  afternoon,  madame, 
about  that  foolish  little  romance  that  Natalie  has  got  into  her 
head.  It  was  kind  of  you ;  it  was  well-intentioned.  And  after 
all,  although  that  wish  of  hers  to  go  to  America  can  scarcely  be 
serious,  it  is  but  natural  that  romantic  ideas  should  get  into  the 
head  of  a  young  girl — " 

"Did  not  I  say  that  to  her?"  exclaimed  Madame  Potecki,  eager- 
ly; "and  almost  in  these  words  too.  And  did  not  I  say  to 
her,  'Ah,  my  child,  you  must  take  care ;  you  must  take  care  !'  " 

"That  also  was  good  advice,"  said  Lind,  courteously ;  "and 
no  doubt  Natalie  laid  it  to  heart.  No,  I  am  not  afraid  of  her  do- 
in<T  anything  very  wild  or  reckless.  She  is  sensible;  she  thinks; 
she  has  not  been  brought  up  in  an  atmosphere  of  sentiment.  One 
may  say  this  or  that  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  when  one  is  ex- 
cited ;  but  when  it  comes  to  action,  one  reasons,  one  sees  what 
one's  duty  is.  Natalie  may  have  said  something  to  you,  madame, 
about  going  to  America,  but  not  with  any  serious  intention, 
believe  me." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Madame  Potecki,  with  considerable  hesi- 
tation. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  Mr.  Lind,  as  he  rose,  and  stood  before 


THE    VELVET    GLOVE.  2lO 

the  cliimney-piece  mirror,  and  arranged  the  ends  of  his  graceful- 
ly tied  neckerchief.  "  We  come  to  another  point.  It  was  very 
kind  of  yon,  my  dear  madaiiie,  to  bring  me  the  news — to  tell  me 
something  of  that  sort  had  been  said ;  but  you  know  what  ill- 
natiirod  people  will  remark.  You  get  no  appreciation.  They  call 
you  tale-bearer !" 

Madame  colored  slightly. 

"  It  is  ungenerous ;  it  is  not  a  fair  requital  of  kindness ;  but 
that  is  what  is  said,"  he  continued.  "  Now,  I  should  not  like 
any  friend  of  Xatalie's  to  incur  such  a  charge  on  her  account,  do 
you  perceive,  madame?  And,  in  these  circumstances,  do  you  not 
think  that  it  would  be  better  for  both  you  and  me  to  consider 
that  you  did  not  visit  me  this  afternoon  ;  that  I  know  nothing  of 
what  idle  foolishness  Natalie  has  been  talking?  Would  not  that 
be  better?     As  for  me,  I  am  dumb." 

"  Oh,  very  well,  my  dear  friend,"  said  madame,  quickly.  "I 
would  not  for  the  world  have  Natalie  or  any  one  think  that  I  was 
a  mischief-maker — oh  no !  And  did  I  not  promise  to  you  that 
I  should  say  nothing  of  my  having  called  on  you  to-day?  It  is 
already  a  promise." 

He  turned  nniiul  and  regarded  her. 

"  Precisely  so,"  he  said.  "  You  did  promise :  it  was  kind  of 
you ;  and  for  myself,  you  may  i-ely  on  my  discretion.  Your 
caUing  on  me — w^hat  you  repeated  to  me — all  that  is  obliterated  : 
you  understand  ?" 

Madame  Potecki  understood  that  very  well ;  but  she  could  not 
quite  make  out  why  he  should  have  come  to  her  this  evening, 
apparently  with  no  object  beyond  that  of  reminding  her  of  her 
promise  to  say  nothing  of  her  visit  to  Lisle  Street. 

lie  lifted  his  hat  froni  an  adjacent  chair. 

"Now  I  will  leave  you  to  finish  your  dinner  in  quiet.  You 
forgive  me  for  interrupting  you,  do  you  not?  And  you  will  re- 
member, I  am  sure,  not  to  mention  to  any  one  about  your  having 
called  on  me  to-day?  As  for  me,  it  is  all  wiped  out:  I  know 
nothing.     Adieu,  and  thanks." 

He  shook  hands  with  her  in  a  very  friendly  manner,  and  then 
left,  saying  he  could  open  the  outer  door  for  himself. 

He  got  home  in  time  for  dinner:  he  and  Natalie  dined  to- 
gether, and  he  was  particularly  kind  to  her;  he  talked  in 
Magyar,  which  was  his  custom  when  he  wished  to  be  friendly 


276  SUNRISE. 

and  affectionate ;  he  made  no  reference  to  George  Brand  what- 
soever. 

"  Xatalic,"  said  he,  casuall}*,  "it  was  not  fair  that  you  were  de- 
prived of  a  holiday  this  year.  You  know  tlie  reason — there  were 
too  many  important  things  going  forward.  But  it  is  not  yet  too 
late.  You  must  think  about  it — tliink  where  you  would  like  to 
go  for  two  or  three  weeks." 

She  did  not  answer.  It  was  on  that  morning  that  she  had 
placed  her  written  offer  in  her  lover's  hands ;  so  far  there  had 
been  no  reply  from  him. 

"  And  Madame  Potecki,"  her  father  continued ;  "  she  is  not 
very  rich  ;  she  has  but  little  change.  Why  not  take  her  with 
you  instead  of  Anneli  V 

"  I  should  like  to  take  her  away  for  a  time,"  said  the  girl,  in  a 
low  voice.  "  She  lives  a  monotonous  life ;  but  she  has  always 
her  pupils." 

"  Some  arrangement  could  be  made  with  them,  surely,"  her  fa- 
ther said,  lightly ;  and  then  he  added,  "Paris  is  always  the  safest 
place  to  go  to  when  one  is  in  doubt.  There  you  are  independent 
of  the  weather ;  there  are  so  many  things  to  see  and  to  do  if  it 
rains.     Will  you  think  of  it,  Natalushka?" 

"  Yes,  papa,"  she  said,  though  she  felt  rather  guilty.  But  she 
was  so  grateful  to  have  her  father  talk  to  her  in  this  friendly  way 
again,  after  the  days  of  estrangement  that  had  passed,  that  she 
could  not  but  pretend  to  fall  in  with  his  schemes. 

"And  I  will  tell  you  another  thing,"  said  Mr.  Lind.  "  I  intend 
to  buy  you  some  furs,  Natalie,  for  the  winter.  These  we  will  get 
in  Paris." 

"I  am  too  much  of  an  expense  to  you  already,  papa." 

"You  forget,"  said  he,  with  mock  gravity,  "that  you  give  me 
your  invaluable  services  as  house-keeper,  and  that  so  far  you  have 
received  no  salary." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  outer  door. 

"  Is  it  nine  o'clock  already  ?''  he  said,  in  an  altered  tone. 

"  Whom  do  you  expect,  papa?" 

"  Gathorne  Edwards." 

"  Then  I  will  send  you  in  coffee  to  the  study." 

But  presently  Anneli  came  into  the  room. 

"  Pardon,  Fraulein,  but  the  gentleman  wishes  to  see  you  for 
one  minute." 


TilE    VELVET    GLOVE.  277 

"  Let  liim  come  in  here,  then." 

Edwards  came  in,  and  shook  hands  with  Natalie  in  an  embar- 
rassed manner.     Tlien  he  produced  a  little  packet. 

"I  have  a  commission.  Miss  Lind.  It  is  from  Signor  Cala- 
bressa.  He  sends  you  this  necklace,  and  says  I  am  to  tell  you 
that  he  thinks  of  you  always." 

The  messajre  had  been  in  reality  that  Calabressa  "  tliought  of 
her  and  loved  her  always."  But  Edwards  was  a  shy  person,  and 
did  not  like  to  pronounce  the  word  "  love  "  to  this  beautiful  girl, 
who  regarded  him  with  such  proud,  frank  eyes. 

"  He  has  not  returned  with  you,  then  ?" 

"  No." 

*'  But  you  can  send  him  a  message  V 

"  I  will  when  I  hear  of  his  address." 

"Then  you  will  tell  him — will  you  be  so  kind? — tliat  the  little 
Natalushka  —  that  is  myself,"  she  said,  smiling;  "you  will  tell 
liim  that  the  little  Natalushka  thanks  him,  and  is  not  likely  to 
forget  him." 

The  interview  between  the  new  visitor  and  Mr.  Lind  was  speed- 
ily got  over.  Lind  excused  himself  for  giving  Edwards  the  trou- 
ble of  this  second  appointment  by  saying  he  had  been  niuch  en- 
grossed with  serious  business  during  the  day.  There  was,  indeed, 
little  new  to  be  communicated  about  the  Kirski  and  Calabressa 
escapade,  though  Edwards  repeated  the  details  as  minutely  as 
possible.     He  accepted  a  cigar,  and  left. 

Then  Lind  got  his  overcoat  and  hat  and  went  out  of  the  house, 
A  hansom  took  him  along  to  Lisle  Street ;  he  arrived  there  just 
as  ten  was  striking. 

There  were  two  men  at  the  door ;  they  were  Bcratinsky  and 
Reitzei.  All  three  entered  and  went  up  the  narrow  stair  in  the 
dark,  for  the  old  German  had  gone.  There  was  some  fumbling 
for  matches  on  the  landing ;  then  a  light  was  procured,  and  the 
gas  lit  in  the  central  room.  Mr.  Lind  sat  down  at  his  desk;  the 
other  two  drew  in  chairs.     The  whole  house  was  intently  silent. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  take  you  away  from  your  amusements,"  said 
he,  civilly  enough  ;  "  but  you  will  soon  be  able  to  return  to  them. 
The  matter  is  of  importance.     Edwards  has  returned." 

Both  men  nodded  ;  Keitzei  had,  in  fact,  informed  liis  com- 
panion. 

"As  I  anticipated,  Calabressa's  absurd  proposal  has  been  re- 


278 


SUNRISE. 


jected,  if  not  even  scoffed  at.  Now,  this  affair  must  not  be  played 
with  any  longer.  The  Council  has  charged  us,  the  English  sec- 
tion, with  a  certjiin  duty ;  we  must  set  about  having  it  performed 
at  once.'' 

"  There  is  a  year's  grace,"  Beratinsky  observed,  but  Lind  in- 
terrupted liim  curtly. 

"  There  may  be  a  year's  grace  or  less  allowed  to  the  infamous 
priest;  there  is  none  allowed  to  us.  We  must  have  our  agent 
ready.  AVhy,  man,  do  you  think  a  thing  like  that  can  be  done 
off-hand,  without  long  and  elaborate  planning?" 

Beratinsky  was  silenced. 

"Are  we  to  have  the  Council  think  that  we  are  playing  with 
them  ?  And  that  was  not  the  only  thing  in  connection  with  the 
Calabressa  scheme  which  you,  Reitzei,  were  the  first  to  advocate. 
Every  additional  person  whom  you  let  into  the  secret  is  a  possi- 
ble weak  point  in  the  carrying  out  of  the  design  :  do  you  per- 
ceive that  ?     And  you  had  to  let  this  man  Edwards  into  it." 

"  But  he  is  safe."" 

Lind  laughed. 

"Safe?  Yes;  because  he  knows  his  own  life  would  not  be 
worth  a, half-franc  piece  if  he  betrayed  a  Council  secret.  How- 
ever, that  is  over;  no  more  about  it.  We  must  show  the  Coun- 
cil that  we  can  act,  and  promptly." 

There  was  silence  for  a  second  or  two. 

"  I  have  no  need  to  wait  for  the  further  instructions  of  the 
Council,"  Lind  resumed.  "  I  know  what  they  intend.  They  in- 
tend to  make  it  clear  to  all  Europe  that  this  is  not  a  Camorra 
act  of  vengeance.  The  Starving  Cardinal  has  thousands  of  en- 
emies; the  people  curse  and  groan  at  him;  if  he  were  stabbed 
by  an  Italian,  '  Oh,  another  of  those  Camorristi  wretches!'  would 
be  the  ciy.  The  agent  must  come  from  England,  and,  if  he  is 
taken  red-handed,  then  let  him  say  if  he  likes  that  he  is  connect- 
ed with  an  association  which  knows  how  to  reach  evil-doers  who 
are  beyond  the  ordinary  reach  of  the  law ;  but  let  him  make  it 
clear  that  it  is  no  Camorra  affair :  you  understand  ?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  both  men. 

"Now  you  know  what  the  Council  have  ordained,"  continued 
Lind,  calmly,  "that  no  agent  shall  be  appointed  to  undertake  any 
service  involving  immediate  peril  to  life  without  a  ballot  among 
at  least  four  persons.     It  was  absurd  of  Calabressa  to  imagine 


THE    VELVET    GLOVE.  279 

that  they  would  abrogate  their  own  decree,  merely  because  that 
Russian  madman  was  ready  for  anything.  Well,  it  is  not  expe- 
dient that  tliis  secret  should  be  conlided  to  many.  It  is  known 
to  four  persons  in  tliis  country.     Wu  arc  three  of  the  four." 

The  two  men  started. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  boldly,  and  he  regarded  each  of  them  in  tnrn. 
"That  is  my  proposal:  that  we  ourselves  form  three  of  the  bal- 
lot of  four.     The  fourth  must  be  an  Englishman." 

"  Edwards  ?"  said  Beratinsky.  Keitzei  was  thinking  too  much 
of  his  own  position  to  speak. 

"  No,"  said  Lind,  calmly  playing  with  his  pencil,  "  Edwards 
is  a  man  of  books,  not  of  action.  I  have  been  thinkinu-  that  the 
fourth  ought  to  be — George  Brand." 

He  watched  them  both.  Keitzei  was  still  preoccupied ;  but 
the  small  black  eyes  of  Beratinsky  twinkled  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes  !  Very  good  !  There  we  have  our  four.  For 
myself,  I  am  not  afraid ;  not  I !" 

"And  you,  Keitzei;  are  you  satisfied?"  said  Lind,  merely  as  a 
matter  of  form. 

The  younger  man  started. 

"  Oh  yes,  the  Council  must  be  obeyed,"  said  he,  absently. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Lind,  rising,  "the  business  is  concluded. 
Now  you  may  return  to  your  Ctilturvcrcin." 

But  when  the  others  had  risen,  he  said,  in  a  laughing  way, 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  I  will  add :  you  may  think  about  it 
at  your  leisure.  The  chances  are  thrge  to  one,  and  we  all  run  the 
same  risk ;  but  I  confess  I  should  not  be  sorry  to  see  the  Eng- 
lishman chosen  ;  for,  yon  perceive,  that  would  make  the  matter 
clear  enough.  They  would  not  accuse  an  Englishman  of  com- 
plicity with  the  Camorra — would  they,  Keitzei?  If  the  lot  fell 
to  the  Englishman,  I  should  not  be  disappointed — would  you, 
Beratinsky  ?" 

Beratinsky,  who  was  about  to  leave,  turned  sharply,  and  the 
coal-black  eyes  were  fixed  intently  on  Lind's  face. 

"  I  ?"  he  said.  "  Not  I !  We  will  talk  again  about  it,  Brother 
Lind." 

Reitzei  opened  the  door,  Lind  screwed  out  the  gas,  and  then 
the  three  men  descended  the  wooden  staircase,  their  footsteps 
sounding  through  the  silent  house. 


280  SUNRISE. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIL 

SANTA    CLAUS. 

To  save  time  Brand  jumped  into  a  hansom  and  drove  down  to 
Curzon  Street.  He  was  too  much  preoccupied  to  remember  tliat 
Natalie  had  wished  him  not  to  come  to  the  house.  Anneli  ad- 
mitted him,  and  showed  him  up-stairs  into  the  drawing-room.  In 
a  couple  of  seconds  or  so  Natalie  herself  appeared. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  lightly,  "  you  have  come  to  tell  me  about 
Santa  Clans?     You  have  discovered  the  mysterious  messenger?" 

She  shut  the  door,  and  went  forward  to  him. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  she  said,  quickly :  tliere  was  some- 
thing in  his  look  that  alarmed  her. 

He  caught  both  her  hands  in  his,  and  held  them  tight. 

"  Nothing  to  frighten  you,  at  all  events,"  said  he  :  "  no,  Nata- 
lie, I  have  good  news  for  you.    Only — only — you  must  be  brave." 

It  was  he  who  was  afraid ;  he  did  not  know  how  to  begin. 

"  That  locket  there,"  said  he,  regarding  the  little  silver  trinket. 
"  Have  you  ever  thought  about  it  ? — why  do  you  wear  it  ?" 

"  Why  do  I  wear  it  ?"  she  said,  simply.  "  Because  one  day 
that  Calabressa  was  talking  to  me  it  occurred  to  me  that  the 
locket  might  have  belonged  to  my  mother,  and  that  some  one 
had  wished  to  give  it  to  me.  He  did  not  say  that  was  impossi- 
ble. It  was  his  talking  of  Natalie  and  Natalushka  that  put  it  in 
my  head ;  perhaps  it  was  a  stupid  fancy." 

"  Natalie,  the  locket  did  belong  to  your  mother." 

"  Ah,  you  know,  then  ?"  she  said,  quickly,  but  with  nothing  be- 
yond a  bright  and  eager  interest.  "  You  have  seen  that  lady  ? 
Well,  what  does  she  say  ? — was  she  angry  that  you  followed  her? 
Did  von  thank  her  for  me  for  all  those  presents  of  flowers  ?" 

"  Natalie,"  said  he,  almost  in  despair,  "  have  you  never  thought 
about  it — about  the  locket?  Have  you  never  thought  of  what 
might  be  possible  ?" 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  she  said,  with  a  bewildered  air. 
"  AVhat  is  it  ?  why  do  you  not  speak  ?" 


SANTA    CLAL'S.  281 

"Because  I  am  afraid.  Seo,  I  hold  your  hands  ticjlit  because 
I  am  afraid.  And  vet  it  is  yood  news:  vour  heart  will  be  fillccl 
with  joy  ;  your  life  will  be  quite  different  from  to-day  ever  after. 
Natalie,  cannot  you  imagine  for  yourself  —  something  beautiful 
liappening  to  you — something  you  may  have  dreamed  of — " 

She  became  a  little  pale,  but  she  maintained  her  calmness. 

"  Dearest,"  said  she,  "  why  are  you  afraid  to  tell  me.  You 
hold  my  hands :  do  they  tremble  ?" 

"  But,  Natalie,  think  I"  he  said.  "  Think  of  the  locket ;  it  was 
given  you  by  one  who  loved  you — who  lias  loved  you  all  these 
years — and  been  kept  away  from  you — and  now  she  is  waiting 
for  you." 

lie  studied  her  face  intently  :  there  was  nothing  there  but  a 
vague  bewilderment.  lie  grew  more  and  more  to  fear  the  effect 
of  the  shock. 

"Yes,  yes.  Can  you  not  think,  now,  if  it  were  possible  that 
one  whom  you  have  always  thought  to  be  dead — whom  you  have 
loved  all  through  your  life — if  it  were  she  herself — " 

She  withdrew  her  hands  from  his,  and  caught  the  back  of  a 
chair.     She  was  ghastly  pale  ;  for  a  second  she  did  not  speak. 

"You  will  kill  me — if  it  is  not  true,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice, 
and  still  staring  at  him  with  frightened,  bewildered  eyes. 

"  Natalie,  it  is  true,"  said  he,  stepping  forward  to  catch  lier  by 
the  arm,  for  he  thought  she  was  going  to  fall. 

She  sunk  into  the  chair,  and  covered  her  face  with  licr  liands 
— not  to  cry,  but  to  think.  She  had  to  reverse  the  belief  of  a 
lifetime  in  a  second. 

But  suddenly  she  started  up,  her  face  still  white,  her  lips  firm. 

"Take  me  to  her;  I  must  see  her;  I  will  go  at  once." 

"You  shall  not,"  he  said,  promptly;  but  he  himself  was  begin- 
ning to  breathe  more  freely.  "  I  will  not  allow  you  to  see  her 
until  you  are  perfectly  calm." 

He  put  his  hand  on  her  arm  gently. 

"Natalie,"  said  he,  "  you  must  calm  yourself  —  for  her  sake. 
She  has  been  suffering ;  she  is  weak ;  any  wild  scene  would  do 
her  harm.  You  must  calm  yourself,  my  darling;  you  must  be 
the  braver  of  the  two ;  you  must  show  yourself  very  strong — for 
her  sake." 

"I  am  quite  calm,"  she  said,  with  the  pale  lii)s.  She  put  her 
left  hand  over  her  heart.     "  It  is  only  my  heart  that  beats  so." 


282  SUNRISE. 

"Well,  in  a  little  while—" 

"Now — now!"  she  pleaded,  almost  wildly.  "I  must  see  her. 
"When  1  try  to  think  of  it,  it  is  like  to  drive  me  mad  ;  I  cannot 
think  at  all.     Let  us  go  !" 

"You  must  think,"  he  said,  firmly;  "you  must  think  of  what 
you  are  going  to  say;  and  your  dress,  too.  Natalie,  you  must 
take  that  piece  of  scark't  ribbon  away ;  one  who  is  nearly  related 
to  you  has  just  died." 

She  tore  it  off  instantly. 

"And  you  know  Magyar,  don't  you,  Natalie?" 

"  Oh  yes,  yes." 

"  Because  your  mother  has  been  learning  English  in  order  to 
be  able  to  speak  to  you." 

Again  she  placed  her  hand  over  her  heart,  and  there  was  a 
look  of  pain  on  her  face. 

"My  dearest,  let  us  go!  I  can  bear  no  more:  my  heart  will 
break!     See,  am  I  not  calm  enough?     Do  1  tremble?" 

"No,  you  are  very  courageous,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  doubt- 
fully. 

"  Let  us  go ! — let  us  go  !" 

Her  entreaties  overcame  his  scruples.  The  things  she  had 
thrown  aside  on  coming  in  from  her  morning  walk  still  lay 
there;  she  hastily  put  them  on  ;  and  she  herself  led  the  way  down- 
stairs. He  put  her  into  the  hansom,  and  followed  ;  the  man  drove 
off.     She  held  her  lover's  hand  tight,  as  a  sign  of  her  gratitude. 

"  Mind,  I  depend  on  you,  Natalie,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  do  not  fear,"  she  said,  rather  wildly;  "why  should  one 
fear?  It  seems  to  me  all  a  strange  sort  of  dream;  and  I  shall 
waken  out  of  it  by-and-by,  and  go  back  to  the  house.  Why 
should  I  be  surprised  to  see  her,  when  she  is  my  constant  com- 
panion? And  do  you  think  I  shall  not  know  what  to  say? — I 
have  talked  to  her  all  my  life." 

But  when  they  had  reached  the  house,  and  were  admitted,  this 
half-bysterical  courage  had  fled. 

"One  moment,  dearest ;  give  me  one  moment,"  she  said,  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs,  as  if  her  breath  failed  her,  and  she  put  her 
hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Now,  Natalie,"  he  whispered,  "you  must  think  of  your  moth- 
er as  an  invalid — not  to  be  excited,  you  understand ;  there  is  to 
be  no  scene." 


SANTA    CLAU8.  283 

"  Yes,  yes,"  slie  said,  but  slie  scarcely  heard  him. 

"  Now  go,"  he  said,  "and  I  will  wait  here." 

"  No,  I  wish  yoii  to  come,"  she  said. 

"You  oui^ht  to  be  alone  with  her." 

"  1  wish  you  to  come,"  she  repeated ;  and  she  took  his  hand. 

They  went  up-stairs;  the  doDr  was  wide  open;  a  figure  stood 
in  the  middle  of  the  room.  Natalie  entered  first;  she  was  very 
white,  that  was  all.  It  was  the  other  woman  who  was  trembling 
— trembling  with  anxious  fears,  and  forgetful  of  every  one  of  the 
English  phrases  she  had  learned. 

The  girl  at  the  door  hesitated  but  for  a  moment.  Breathless, 
wondering,  she  beheld  this  vision  —  worn  as  the  face  was,  she 
recognized  in  it  the  features  she  had  learned  to  love ;  and  there 
were  the  dark  and  tender  eyes  she  had  so  often  held  commune 
with  when  she  was  alone.  It  was  only  because  she  was  so  star- 
tled that  she  thus  hesitated;  the  next  instant  she  was  in  her  moth- 
er's arms,  held  tight  there,  her  head  against  lier  bosom. 

Then  the  mother  began,  in  her  despair, 

"My — my  daughter — you — do — know  me?" 

But  the  girl,  not  looking  up,  murmured  some  few  words  in 
a  language  Brand  did  not  understand ;  and  at  the  sound  of 
them  the  mother  uttered  a  wild  cry  of  joy,  and  drew  her  daugh- 
ter closer  to  her,  and  laid  her  streaming,  worn,  sad  face  on  the 
beautiful  hair.  They  spoke  together  in  that  tongue;  the  sounds 
were  soft  and  tender  to  the  ear;  perhaps  it  was  the  yearning  of 
love  that  made  them  so. 

Then  Natalie  remembered  her  promise.  She  gently  released 
herself;  she  led  her  mother  to  a  sofa,  and  made  her  sit  down; 
she  threw  herself  on  her  knees  beside  her,  and  kissed  her  hand ; 
then  she  buried  her  head  in  her  mother's  lap.  She  sobbed  once 
or  twice;  she  was  determiiic'd  not  to  give  way  to  tears.  And  the 
mother  stroked  the  soft  hair  of  the  girl,  which  she  could  hardly 
see,  for  her  eyes  were  full ;  and  from  time  to  time  she  spoke  to 
her  in  those  gentle,  trembling  tones,  bending  over  her  and  speak- 
ing close  to  her  ear.  The  girl  was  silent ;  perhaps  afraid  to  awake 
from  a  dream. 

"  Natalie,"  said  George  Brand. 

She  sprung  to  her  feet. 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon — I  beg  your  pardon!"  she  said,  hur- 
riedly.    "  I  had  forgotten — " 


284  SUNRISE. 

"No,  you  have  not  forgotten,"  lie  said,  with  a  smile.  "You 
have  remembered ;  you  have  behaved  well.  Now  that  I  have 
seen  you  through  it,  I  am  going ;  you  ought  to  be  by  your- 
selves." 

"  Oh  no !"  she  said,  in  a  bewildered  way.  "  Without  you  I 
am  useless:  I  cannot  think.  I  should  o'o  on  talkino-  and  talkino; 
to  my  mother  all  day,  all  night — because — because  my  heart  is 
full.  But  —  but  one  must  do  somethino-.  Whv  is  she  here? 
She  will  come  home  with  me — now  !" 

"  Natalie,"  said  he,  gravely,  "  3"ou  must  not  even  mention  such 
a  thing  to  her :  it  would  pain  her.  Can  you  not  see  that  there 
are  sufficient  reasons  why  she  should  not  go,  when  she  has  not 
been  under  your  fathei''s  roof  for  sixteen  years?" 

"And  why  has  my  father  never  told  me?"  the  girl  said,  breath- 
lessly. 

"  I  cannot  say." 

She  thought  for  a  moment ;  but  she  was  too  excited  to  follow 
out  any  train  of  thinking. 

"Ah,"  she  said,  "  what  matter?  I  have  found  a  great  treasure. 
And  you,  you  shall  not  go :  it  will  be  we  three  together  now. 
Come !" 

She  took  his  hand  ;  she  turned  to  her  mother ;  lier  face  flushed 
with  shyness.  She  said  something,  her  eyes  turned  to  the  ground, 
in  that  soft  musical  language  he  did  not  understand. 

"  I  know,  my  child,"  the  mother  answered  in  French,  and  she 
laughed  lightly  despite  her  wet  eyes.  "  Do  you  think  one  can- 
not see? — and  I  have  been  following  you  like  a  spy  !" 

"Ah,  then,"  said  the  girl,  in  the  same  tongue,  "do  you  see 
what  lies  they  tell  ?  They  say  when  the  mother  comes  near  her 
child,  the  heart  of  the  child  knows  and  recognizes  her.  It  is  not 
true  ;  it  is  not  true  ! — or  perhaps  one  has  a  colder  heart  than  the 
others.  You  have  been  near  to  me,  mother ;  I  have  watched,  as 
you  went  away  crying,  and  all  I  said  was,  'Ah,  the  poor  lady,  I 
am  sorry  for  her !'  I  had  no  more  pity  for  you  than  Anneli  had. 
Anneli  used  to  say,  '  Perhaps,  fraulein,  she  has  lost  some  one  who 
resembled  you.' " 

"  I  had  lost  you — I  had  lost  you,"  the  mother  said,  drawing 
the  girl  toward  her  again.  "  But  now  I  have  found  you  again, 
Natalnshka.  I  thank  God  for  his  goodness  to  me.  I  said  to 
myself,  '  If  my  child  turns  away  from   me,  I  will  die  !'    and  I 


SANTA    CLACS.  285 

thonrrht  that  if  you  had  any  portrait  of  me,  it  would  be  taken 
wlion  I  was  yoiint;;,  and  you  would  not  care  for  an  old  woman 
grown  haggard  and  plain — " 

"Oh,  do  you  tliiiik  it  is  for  smooth  portraits  lliat  I  care?''  the 
girl  said,  inipctuously.  Siie  drew  out  from  souie  concealed  pocket 
a  small  case,  and  opened  it.  "Do  you  think  it  is  for  smooth 
faces  one  cares?     There — 1  will  never  look  at  it  again  !" 

She  threw  it  on  to  the  table  with  a  proud  gesture. 

"But  you  had  it  next  your  heart,  Natalushka,"  said  her  moth- 
er, smiling. 

"]>ut  1  have  you  in  my  heart,  mother:  what  do  I  want  with  a 
portrait  ?"  said  the  girl. 

She  drew  her  daughter  down  to  her  again,  and  put  her  arm 
once  more  round  her  neck. 

"  I  once  had  hair  like  yours,  Natalushka,  but  not  so  beautiful 
as  yours,  I  think.  And  you  wore  the  locket,  too?  Did  not  that 
make  you  guess?     Had  you  no  suspicion?" 

''How  could  I  —  how  could  IT  she  asked.  "Even  when  I 
showed  it  to  Calabressa — " 

Here  she  stopped  suddenly. 

"Did  he  know,  mother?" 

"  Oh  yes." 

"  Then  why  did  he  not  tell  me  ?  Oh,  it  was  cruel  I"  she  said, 
indignantly. 

"  He  told  me,  Natalie,"  George  Brand  said. 

"  You  knew  ?"  the  girl  said,  turning  to  him  with  wide  eyes. 

"Yes;  and  Calabressa,  when  he  told  me,  implored  me  never  to 
tell  you.  Well,  perhaps  he  thought  it  would  give  you  needless 
pain.  But  I  was  thinking,  within  the  last  few  days,  that  I  ought 
to  tell  you  before  I  left  for  America." 

"  Do  you  hear,  mother?"  the  girl  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "He  is 
going  away  to  America — and  alone.     I  wished  to  go  ;  he  refuses." 

"  Now  I  am  going  away  much  more  contented,  Natalie,  since 
you  will  have  a  constant  companion  with  you.  I  presume,  ma- 
dame,  you  will  remain  in  England?" 

The  eliler  woman  looked  up  with  rather  a  frightened  air. 

"  Alas,  monsieur,  I  do  not  know  !  When  at  last  I  fouiul  my- 
self free — when  I  knew  I  could  come  and  speak  to  my  child — 
that  was  all  I  thought  of." 

"But  vou  wish  to  remain  in  Enoland :  is  it  not  so?" 


286  SUNRISE. 

"  "What  have  I  in  the  world  now  but  t])is  beautiful  child — this 
child  whose  heart  is  not  cold,  thougli  her  mother  comes  so  late 
to  claim  her  ?" 

"  Then  be  satisfied,  madame.  It  is  simple.  No  one  can  inter- 
fere with  you.  l>ut  I  will  provide  you,  if  you  will  allow  me,  with 
better  lodgings  than  these.  I  have  a  few  days'  idleness  still  be- 
fore me." 

"That  is  his  way,  mother,"  Natalie  said,  in  a  still  lower  voice. 
"It  is  always  about  others  he  is  thinking  —  how  to  do  one  a 
kindness." 

"I  presume,"  he  said,  in  quite  a  matter-of-fact  way,  "that  you 
do  not  wish  your  being  in  London  to  become  known  ?" 

She  looked  up  timidly,  but  in  truth  she  could  hardly  take  her 
attention  away  from  this  newly-found  daughter  of  hers  for  a  sin- 
gle second.  She  still  continued  stroking  the  soft  hair  and  round- 
ed cheek  as  she  said, 

"  If  that  is  possible." 

"  It  would  not  be  long  possible  in  an  open  thoroughfare  like 
this,"  he  said ;  "  but  I  think  I  could  find  you  a  small  old-fash- 
ioned house  down  about  Brompton,  with  a  garden  and  a  high 
wall.  I  have  passed  such  places  occasionally.  There  Natalie 
could  come  to  see  you,  and  walk  with  you.  There  is  another 
thing,"  he  said,  in  a  matter-of-fact  way,  taking  out  his  watch. 
"It  is  now  nearly  two  o'clock.  Now,  dear  madame,  Natalie  is  in 
the  habit  of  having  luncheon  at  one.  You  would  not  like  to  see 
your  child  starve  before  your  eyes  ?" 

The  elder  woman  rose  instantly ;  then  she  colored  somewhat. 

"No  doubt  you  did  not  expect  visitors,"  George  Brand  said, 
quickly.  "  Well,  what  do  you  say  to  this?  Let  us  get  into  a 
four-wheeled  cab,  and  drive  down  to  my  chambers.  I  have  an 
indefatigable  fellow,  who  could  get  something  for  us  in  the  desert 
of  Sahara." 

"  What  do  you  say,  child  ?" 

Natalie  had  risen  too :  she  was  regarding  her  mother  with 
earnest  eyes,  and  not  thinking  much  about  luncheon. 

"  I  will  do  whatever  you  wish,"  she  was  saying ;  but  suddenly 
she  cried,  "  Oh,  I  am  indeed  so  happy  !"  and  flung  her  arms  round 
lier  motlier's  neck,  and  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears  for  the  first 
time.     She  had  strugo-led  long :  but  she  had  broken  down  at  last. 

"  Natalie,"  said  George  Brand,  pretending  to  be  very  anxious 


A    SCMMOXS,  287 

about  the  time,  "could  you  get  your  motlier's  things  for  her?  I 
think  we  siiall  be  (hjwii  there  by  a  quarter  i)ast  two." 

She  turned  to  him  with  her  streaming  eyes. 

"Yes,  \vc  will  go  with  you.     Do  not  let  us  be  separated." 

"  Then  look  sharp,"  said  he,  severely. 

Natalie  took  her  mother  into  the  adjoining  room.  Brand, 
standing  at  the  window,  succeeded  in  catcliing  the  eye  of  a  cab- 
man, whum  he  signaled  to  come  to  the  door  below.  Presently 
the  two  women  appeared. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  Miss  Natalie,  there  is  to  be  no  more  crying." 

"Oh  no!"  she  said,  smiling  quite  radiantly.  "And  I  am  so 
anxious  to  see  the  rooms — I  have  heard  so  much  of  them  from 
Lord  Evelyn." 

Slie  said  nothing  further  then,  for  she  was  passing  before  him 
on  her  way  out.  In  doing  so,  she  managed,  unseen,  to  pick  up  the 
miniature  she  had  thrown  on  the  table.  She  had  made  believe 
to  despise  that  portrait  very  much  ;  but  all  the  same,  as  they  went 
down  the  dark  staircase,  she  conveyed  it  back  to  the  secret  little 
pocket  she  had  made  for  it — next  her  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

A    SUMMONS. 


"  Mother,"  said  the  girl,  in  the  soft-sounding  Magyar,  as  these 
two  were  together  going  down-stairs,  "give  me  your  hand;  let 
me  hold  it  tight,  to  make  sure.  All  the  way  here  I  kept  terri- 
fying myself  by  thinking  it  must  be  a  dream  ;  that  I  should  wake, 
and  find  the  world  empty  without  you,  just  as  before.  But  now 
— now  with  your  hand  in  mine,  I  am  sure." 

"  Natalushka,  you  can  hear  me  speak  also.  Ghosts  do  not  speak 
like  this,  do  they  ?" 

Brand  had  preceded  them  to  open  the  door.  As  Natalie  was 
passing  him  she  paused  for  a  second,  and  regarded  him  with  the 
beautiful,  tender,  dark  eyes. 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  forget  what  I  owe  to  you,"  she  said  in 
Eniilish. 

He  followed  them  into  the  cab. 

"  What  you  owe  to  me  ?"  he  said,  lightly.     "  You  owe  me 


288  SUNRISE. 

nothing  at  all.  But  if  you  wish  to  do  me  a  good  turn,  you  may 
pretend  to  be  pleased  with  wbatcvei-  old  Waters  can  get  together 
for  you.  The  poor  old  fellow  will  be  in  a  dreadful  state.  To 
entertain  two  ladies,  and  not  a  moment  of  warning !  However, 
we  will  show  you  the  river,  and  the  boats  and  things,  and  give 
him  a  few  minutes'  o-race." 

Indeed,  it  was  entirely  as  a  sort  of  harmless  frolic  that  he  chose 
to  regard  this  present  excursion  of  theirs.  He  was  afraid  of  the 
effect  of  excessive  emotion  on  this  worn  woman,  and  he  was  anx- 
ious that  she  should  see  her  daughter  cheerful  and  happy.  He 
would  not  have  them  think  of  any  future ;  above  all,  he  would 
have  nothing  said  about  himself  or  America ;  it  was  all  an  affair 
of  the  moment — the  joyous  reunion  of  mother  and  daughter — a 
pleasant  morning  with  London  all  busy  and  astir — the  only  seri- 
ous thing  in  the  whole  world  the  possible  anxieties  and  struggles 
of  the  venerable  major-domo  in  Buckingham  Street. 

He  had  not  much  difficulty  in  entertaining  these  two  guests  of 
his  on  their  way  down.  They  professed  to  be  greatl}'  interested 
in  the  history  and  antiquities  of  the  old-fashioned  little  thorough- 
fare over  the  river;  arrived  there,  they  regarded  with  much  ap- 
parent curiosity  the  houses  pointed  out  to  them  as  having  been 
the  abode  of  illustrious  personages:  they  examined  the  old  water- 
gate  ;  and,  in  ascending  the  oak  staircase,  they  heard  of  painted 
ceilings  and  what  not  with  a  deep  and  respectful  attention.  But 
always  these  two  had  each  other's  hand  clasped  tight,  and  occa- 
sionally Natalie  murmured  a  little  snatch  of  Magyar.  It  was  only 
to  make  sure,  she  explained. 

Before  they  reached  the  topmost  story  they  heard  a  consider- 
able noise  overhead.  It  was  a  one-sided  altercation  ;  broken  and 
piteous  on  the  one  hand,  voluble  and  angry  on  the  other. 

"  It  sounds  as  if  Waters  were  having  a  row  with  the  man  in 
possession,"  Brand  said. 

They  drew  nearer. 

"  AVhy,  Natalie,  it  is  your  friend  Kirski !" 

Brand  was  following  his  two  guests  up-stairs ;  and  so  could  not 
interfere  between  the  two  combatants  before  they  arrived.  But 
the  moment  that  Natalie  appeared  on  the  landing  there  was  a 
dead  silence.  Kirski  shrunk  back  with  a  slight  exclamation,  and 
stood  looking  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  frightened  air.  She 
advanced  to  him  and  asked  him  what  was  the  matter,  in  his  na- 


A    SUMMONS.  289 

tive  tonijue.  He  sliriink  farther  l)ack.  The  man  could  not  or 
would  not  speak.  lie  nuirniured  soMietliiiif^  to  hiiriseif,  and 
stared  at  her  as  if  she  were  a  spectre. 

"lie  has  got  a  letter  for  you,  sir,"  Waters  said;  "  I  have  seen 
the  address;  and  he  will  neilhcr  U'.-ive  it  nor  take  it.  And  as  for 
what  he  has  been  trying  to  say,  Lord  A'inighty  knows  what  it  is 
—1  don't." 

"Very  well — all  right,"  Brand  said.  "You  leave  him  to  us. 
Cut  away  and  get  us  some  luncheon — whatever  you  can  find — at 
once." 

But  Xatalie  had  gone  nearer  to  the  Russian,  and  was  talking  to 
him  in  that  fearless,  gentle  way  of  hers.  By-and-by  he  spoke,  in 
an  uncertain,  almost  gasping  voice.  Then  he  showed  her  a  letter; 
and,  in  obedience  to  something  she  said,  went  timidly  forward 
and  placed  it  in  Brand's  hand. 

"  J[  Monsieur, 

M.  George  Brand,  Esq., 

Londresy 

This  was  tlie  superscription  ;  and  Brand  recognized  the  hand- 
writing easily  enough. 

"  The  letter  is  from  Calabrcssa,"  he  said,  "  obviously.  Tell 
him  not  to  be  alarmed.  We  shall  not  eat  him,  however  hungry 
we  may  be." 

Kirski  had  recovered  himself  somewhat,  and  was  speaking 
eagerly  to  her,  in  a  timid,  anxious,  imploring  fashion.  She  lis- 
tened in  silence;  but  she  was  clearly  somewhat  embarrassed,  and 
when  she  turned  to  her  lover  there  was  some  Hush  of  color  on 
her  face. 

"  He  talks  some  wild  things,"  she  said,  "  and  some  foolish 
things;  but  he  means  no  harm.  I  am  sorry  for  the  poor  man. 
He  is  afraid  you  are  angry  with  him  ;  he  says  he  promised  nev- 
er to  try  to  see  me ;  that  he  would  not  have  come  if  he  had 
known.  I  have  told  him  you  are  not  angry;  that  it  is  not  his 
fault;  that  you  will  show  you  are  not  angry." 

But  first  of  all  Brand  ushered  his  guests  into  the  long,  low- 
roofed  chamber,  and  drew  the  portieres  across  the  middle,  so  that 
Waters  might  have  an  apartment  for  his  luncheon  preparations. 
•Then  he  opened  the  letter.  Kirski  remained  at  the  door,  with 
hisi  cap  in  his  hand. 

13 


290  SUNRISE. 

"  My  much-esteemed  Friend," — Calabressa  wrote,  in  his  or- 
nate, uno-ramniatical,  and  plionctic  French — "the  poor  devil  who 
is  tlie  bearer  of  this  letter  is  known  to  you,  and  yet  not  altogeth- 
er known  to  you.  You  know  something  of  his  conversion  from 
a  wild  beast  into  a  man — from  the  tiger  into  a  devotee;  but  you 
do  not,  my  friend,  perhaps  entirely  know  how  his  life  has  be- 
come absorbed  in  one  worship,  one  aspiration,  one  desire.  The 
means  of  the  conversion,  the  instrument,  you  know ;  have  I  not 
myself  before  described  it  to  you  ?  The  harassed  and  bleeding 
heart,  crushed  with  scorn  and  filled  with  despair — how  can  a  man 
live  with  that  in  his  bosom  ?  He  wishes  to  die.  The  world  has 
been  too  cruel  to  him.  But  all  at  once  an  angel  appears ;  into 
the  ruins  of  the  wasted  life  a  seed  of  kindness  is  dropped,  and 
then  behold  the  beautiful  flower  of  love  springing  up — love  that 
becomes  a  worship,  a  religion  !  Yes,  I  have  said  so  much  before 
to  you;  now  I  say  more;  now  I  entreat  you  not  to  check  this 
beautiful  worship — it  is  sacred.  This  man  goes  round  the  church- 
es ;  he  stands  before  the  pictures  of  the  saints ;  he  wanders  on 
unsatisfied ;  he  says  there  is  no  saint  like  the  beautiful  one  in 
England,  who  healed  him  with  her  soft  words  when  he  was  sick 
to  death.  But  now,  my  dear  Monsieur  Brand,  I  hear  you  say 
to  yourself,  '  What  is  my  friend  Calabressa  after  now  ?  Has  he 
taken  to  the  writing  of  pious  sermons?  Is  he  about  to  shave 
his  head  and  put  a  rope  round  his  waist?  My  faith,  that  is  not 
like  that  fellow  Calabressa!'  You  are  right,  my  friend.  1  de- 
scribe the  creation  of  the  devotee ;  it  is  a  piece  of  poetry,  as  one 
mio-ht  sav.  But  your  devotee  must  have  his  amulet ;  is  it  not 
so?  This  is  the  meaning  and  prayer  of  my  letter  to  you.  The 
bearer  of  it  was  willing  to  do  us  a  great  service ;  perhaps — if  one 
must  confess  it — he  believed  it  was  on  behalf  of  the  beautiful 
Natalushka  and  her  father  that  he  was  to  undertake  the  duty 
that  now  devolves  on  some  other.  One  must  practise  a  little 
finesse  sometimes ;  what  harm  is  there  ?  Very  well.  Do  you 
know  what  he  seeks  by  way  of  reward — what  he  considers  the 
most  valuable  thing  in  the  world  ?  It  is  a  portrait  of  his  saint, 
you  understand  ?  That  is  the  amulet  the  devotee  would  have. 
And  I  do  not  further  wish  to  write  to  her ;  no,  because  she  would 
say,  'What,  that  is  a  little  matter  to  do  for  my  fi'icnd  (Calabressa.' 
No;  I  write  to  you — I  write  to  one  who  has  knowledge  of  af- 
fairs— and  I  say  to  myself,  '  If  he  considers  it  prudent,  then  »he 


A    SUMMONS.  291 

will  ask  the  beautiful  cliild  to  give  her  portrait  to  this  one  who 
will  wur.>lii[)  it.'  1  have  declared  to  him  that  I  will  make  tiie 
request;  I  make  it.  Do  not  consider  it  a  trifling-  matter;  it  is 
not  to  him  ;  it  is  the  er(nvu  of  his  existence.  And  if  he  says, 
'Do  you  sec,  this  is  what  I  am  ready  to  do  for  her — I  will  give 
my  life  if  she  or  her  friends  wish  it;'  tlien  I  say — I,  Calahressa — 
that  a  portrait  at  one  shilling,  two  shillings,  ten  shillings,  is  not 
so  very  much  in  return.  Now,  my  dear  friend,  you  will  consider 
tljc  prudence  of  granting  his  request  and  mine.  I  believe  in  his 
faithfulness.  If  you  say  to  bin),  'The  beautiful  lady  who  was 
kind  to  you  wishes  you  to  do  this  or  do  that;  or  wishes  you 
never  to  part  with  this  portrait;  or  wishes  you  to  keep  silence 
on  this  or  on  that,'  you  may  depend  on  him.  I  say  so.  Adieu ! 
Say  to  the  little  one  that  there  is  some  one  who  does  not  forget 
her.  Perhaps  you  will  never  hear  from  Calabressa  again;  re- 
member him  not  as  a  madcap,  but  as  one  who  wished  you  well. 
To-morrow  I  start  for  Cyprus — then  farther — with  a  light  heart. 
Adieu !  "  Calabressa." 

He  handed  the  letter  to  Xatalie's  mother.  The  elder  woman 
read  the  letter  carefully.  She  laughed  quietly;  but  there  were 
tears  in  her  eyes.  • 

"  It  is  like  my  old  friend  Calabressa,"  she  said.  "  Xataluslika, 
tliey  want  you  to  give  your  portrait  to  this  poor  creature  who 
adores  you.  Why  not?  Calabressa  says  he  will  do  whatever 
you  tell  him.  Tell  him,  then,  not  to  part  with  it ;  not  to  show 
it  to  any  one,  and  not  to  say  to  any  one  he  has  seen  either  you 
or  me  here.  Is  not  that  simple  ?  Tell  him  to  come  here  to- 
morrow or  next  day;  you  can  send  the  photograph  to  Mr.  Brand." 

The  girl  went  to  the  door,  and  said  a  few  words  to  Kirski. 
He  said  nothing  in  reply,  but  sunk  on  his  knees,  as  he  had  done 
in  Curzon  Street,  and  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it ;  then  he  rose, 
and  bowed  respectfully  to  the  others,  and  left. 

Presently  Waters  came  in  and  announced  that  luncheon  was 
on  the  table;  the  portieres  were  drawn  aside;  they  passed  into 
the  farther  end  of  the  apartment,  and  sat  down.  The  banquet 
was  not  a  sumptuous  one,  and  there  were  no  flowers  on  the  table; 
but  it  was  everything  that  any  human  being  could  have  done  in 
fifteen  minutes;  and  these  were  bachelors'  rooms.  Natalie  took 
care  to  make  a  pretty  speech  in  the  hearing  of  Mr.  Waters. 


292  SUNRISE. 

"  Yes,  but  you  eat  nothing,"  the  host  said  in  English.  "  Do  3'ou 
think  your  mother  will  have  anything  if  she  sees  you  indifferent?" 

Presently  the  mother,  who  seemed  to  be  much  amused  with 
something  or  other,  said  in  French, 

"Ah,  my  friend,  I  did  not  think  my  child  would  be  so  de- 
ceitful.    I  did  not  think  she  would  deceive  you." 

The  girl  stared  with  wide  eyes. 

"She  pretended  to  tell  you  what  this  poor  man  said  to  her," 
said  the  mother,  with  a  quiet  smile.  "  She  forgot  that  some  one 
else  than  herself  might  know  Russian." 

Natalie  flushed  red. 

"  Mother  !"  she  remonstrated.  "  I  said  he  had  spoken  a  lot  of 
foolish  things." 

"After  all,"  said  the  mother,  "  he  said  no  more  than  what 
Calabressa  says  in  the  letter.  You  have  been  kind  to  him  ;  he 
regards  you  as  an  angel ;  he  will  give  you  his  life ;  you,  or  any 
one'  whom  you  love.  The  poor  man  !  Did  you  see  how  he 
trembled  T' 

Natalie  turned  to  George  Brand. 

"  He  said  something  more  than  that,"  said  she.  "  He  said  he 
had  undertaken  some  duty,  some  service,  that  was  expected  to 
have  cost  hiiti  his  life.     He  did  not  know  what  it  was:  do  yon  ?" 

"  I  do  not,"  said  he,  answering  frankly  the  honest  look  of  her 
eyes.  "I  can  scarcely  believe  any  one  was  foolish  enough  to 
think  of  intrusting  any  serious  duty  to  a  man  like  that.  But 
still  Calabressa  hints  as  much ;  and  I  know  he  left  England  with 
Calabressa." 

"Natalushka,"  the  mother  said,  cautiously,  and  yet  with  an 
anxious  scrutiny,"!  have  often  wondered  —  whether  you  knew 
mucli — much  about  the  Society." 

"Oh  no,  mother!  I  am  allowed  to  translate,  and  sometimes 
I  hear  that  help  is  to  be  given  here  or  there;  but  I  am  in  no 
secrets  at  all.     That  is  my  misfortune." 

The  mother  seemed  much  relieved. 

"It  is  no  misfortune,  child.  You  are  happier  as  you  are,  I 
think.  Then,"  she  added,  with  a  (juick  glance,  "  you  have  never 
heard  of  one — Bartolotti  ?" 

"  No,"  slie  answered;  but  directly  afterward  she  exclaimed, 
"Oh  yes,  yes!  Bartolotti,  that  is  the  name  Calabressa  gave  me. 
He  said  if  ever  I   was  in  very  serious   trouble,  I  was  to  go  to 


A    SUMMONS.  2  on 

Naples;  and  that  was  the  password.  But  I  tlioutjlit  to  nivself, 
'If  I  am  in  trouble,  why  should  I  not  <fo  to  my  own  father?'" 

The  mother  rose  and  went  to  the  girl,  and  put  lier  arm  round 
her  dauglittM-'s  neck,  and  stooped  down. 

"  Natalushka,"  said  she,  earnestly,  "you  are  wiser  than  Cala- 
bressa.  If  you  are  in  trouble,  do  not  seek  any  help  that  way. 
Go  to  your  father." 

"And  to  you,  mother,"  said  she,  drawing  down  the  worn,  beau- 
tiful face  and  kissing  it.  "  Why  not  to  you  also  ?  Why  not  to 
you  both  ?" 

The  mother  smiled,  and  patted  the  girl's  head,  and  then  re- 
turned to  the  other  side  of  the  table,  ^^'aters  brought  in  some 
fruit,  fresh  from  Covent  Garden. 

lie  also  brought  in  a  letter,  which  he  put  beside  his  master's 
plate.  Brand  did  not  even  look  at  it ;  he  pushed  it  aside,  to  give 
him  more  room.  But  in  pushing  it  aside  he  turned  it  somewhat, 
and  Natalie's  eye  happening  to  fall  on  the  address,  she  perceived 
at  once  that  it  was  in  the  handwriting  of  her  father. 

"  Dearest,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice,  and  rather  breathlessly, 
"  the  letter  is  from  papa." 

"  From  your  father  ?"  said  he,  without  any  great  concern.  Then 
he  turned  to  Natalie's  mother.  "  AVill  you  excuse  me  ?  My 
friends  are  determined  to  remind  me  of  their  existence  to-day." 

But  this  letter  was  much  shorter  than  Calabressa's,  though  it 
was  friendly  enough. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Brand,"  it  ran, — "  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  you 
acted  with  so  much  promptitude  that  your  preparations  for  de- 
parture are  nearly  complete.  You  are  soldier-like.  I  have  less 
scruple,  therefore,  in  asking  you  to  be  so  kind  as  to  give  me  up 
to-morrow  evening,  from  half-past  nine  onward,  for  the  consid- 
eration of  a  very  serious  order  that  has  been  transmitted  to  us 
from  the  Council.  You  will  perceive  that  this  claims  precedence 
over  any  of  our  local  arrangements ;  and  as  it  may  even  involve 
the  abandonment  of  your  voyage  to  America,  it  will  be  advisable 
to  give  it  immediate  consideration.  I  trust  the  hour  of  half-past 
nine  will  not  interfere  with  any  engagement. 

"  Your  colleague  and  friend,  Ferdinand  Lind." 

This  was  all  that  an  ordinary  reader  would  have  seen  in  the 
letter;  but  Brand  observed  also,  down  at  the  left-hand  corner,  a 


294  SUNRISE. 

small  mark  in  green  color.  That  tiny  arrow,  with  the  two  dots 
— the  whole  almost  invisible — changed  the  letter  from  an  in- 
vitatiiin  into  a  command.  It  signified  "On  business  of  the 
Council." 

He  laid  down  the  letter,  and  said  lightly  to  Natalie, 

"  Now  I  have  some  news  for  you.  I  may  not  have  to  go  to 
America  after  all." 

"You  are  not  going  to  America?"  she  said,  in  a  bewildered 
way.  "Oh,  if  it  were  possible — if  it  were  possible!"  she  mur- 
mured, "  I  would  say  I  was  too  happy.  God  is  too  good  to  me 
— to  have  them  both  given  back  to  me  in  one  day — both  of  them 
in  one  day — " 

"  Natalie,"  said  he,  gently,  "  it  is  only  a  possibility,  you  know." 

"  But  it  is  possible  !"  she  said ;  and  there  was  a  quick,  strange, 
happy  light  in  her  face.     "  It  is  possible,  is  it  not?" 

Then  she  glanced  at  her  mother;  and  her  face,  that  had  been 
somewhat  pale,  was  pale  no  longer;  the  blood  mounted  to  her 
forehead ;  her  eyes  were  downcast. 

"  It  would  please  you,  would  it  not  ?"  she  said,  somewhat  for- 
mally, and  in  a  low  and  timid  voice.  The  mother,  unobserved, 
smiled. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  said,  cheerfully.  "  But  even  if  I  go  to  America, 
what  then  ?  In  a  couple  of  years — it  is  not  a  long  time — I  should 
expect  your  mother  and  you  to  be  arriving  at  Sandy  Hook ;  and 
I  should  have  a  small  steamer  there  to  meet  you,  and  we  could 
sail  up  the  bay  together." 

Luncheon  over,  they  went  to  the  window,  and  greatly  admired 
the  view  of  the  gardens  below  and  the  wide  river  beyond  ;  and 
they  went  round  the  room  examining  the  water-colors,  and  bits 
of  embroidery,  and  knickknacks  brought  from  many  lands;  and 
they  were  much  interested  in  one  or  two  portraits.  Altogether, 
they  were  charmed  with  the  place,  though  the  elder  lady  said,  in 
her  pretty,  careful  French,  that  it  was  clear  no  woman's  hand  was 
about,  otherwise  there  would  have  been  white  curtains  at  the  win- 
dows besides  those  heavy  straight  folds  of  red.  Brand  said  he 
preferred  to  have  plenty  of  light  in  the  room ;  and,  in  fact,  at 
this  moment  the  sunlight  was  painting  squares  of  beautiful  color 
on  the  faded  old  Turkey-carpet.  All  this  time  Natalie  had  shown 
much  reserve. 

When  the  mother  and  daughter  were  in  the  cab  together  going 


A    NEW    HOME.  295 

to  Edgware  Road — George  Brand  was  off  by  liiinself  to  Bromp- 
tou — the  iiKjtlier  said, 

"  Nutaluslika,  why  was  your  iiianncr  so  much  changed  to  Mr. 
Brand  after  you  heard  he  nnglit  not  be  going  to  America?" 

The  girl  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  her  eyes  were  lowered. 

"You  see,  mother,"  she  said,  witli  some  embarrassment,  "  wlien 
one  is  in  great  trouble  and  difKculty — and  when  you  wish  to  show 
sympathy — then,  perhaps,  you  speak  too  plainly.  You  do  not 
think  of  choosing  very  prudent  words;  your  heart  speaks  for 
you ;  and  one  may  say  things  that  a  girl  should  not  be  too  ready 
to  confess.  That  is  when  there  is  great  trouble,  and  you  are 
grieved  for  some  one.  But — but — when  the  trouble  goes  away 
— when  it  is  all  likely  to  come  right — one  remembers — " 

The  explanation  was  rather  stammering  and  confused. 

"  But  at  least,  mother,"  she  added,  with  her  eyes  still  downcast, 
"  at  least  I  can  be  frank  with  you.  There  is  no  harm  in  my  tell- 
ing you  that  I  love  you." 

The  mother  pressed  the  hand  that  she  held  in  hers. 

"  And  if  you  tell  me  often  enough,  Natalushka,  perhaps  I  shall 
begin  to  believe  you." 


CHArTER  XXXIX. 

A    NEW    HOME. 


George  Brand  set  out  house- hunting  with  two  exceptional 
circumstances  in  his  favor :  he  knew  precisely  what  he  wanted, 
and  he  was  prepared  to  pay  for  it.  Moreover,  he  undertook  the 
task  willingly  and  cheerfully.  It  was  something  to  do.  It  would 
fill  in  a  portion  of  that  period  of  suspense.  It  would  prevent  his 
harassing  him^^elf  v/\i\\  speculations  as  to  his  own  future — specu- 
lations which  were  obviously  useless  until  he  should  learn  what 
was  required  of  him  by  the  Council. 

Jiut  none  the  less  was  he  doomed  to  the  house-hunter's  inevi- 
table disappointment.  lie  found,  in  the  course  of  his  devious 
wanderings  through  all  sorts  of  out-of-the-way  thoroughfares 
within  a  certain  radius  from  Brompton  Church,  that  the  houses 
which  came  nearest  to  his  ideal  cottage  in  a  walled  garden  were 
either  too  far  away  from  Hyde  Park,  or  they  were  not  to  be  let, 


296  SUNRISE. 

or  they  were  to  be  let  niifiiniislied.  So,  like  a  prudent  person, 
he  moderated  his  desires,  and  began  to  cast  about  for  any  fur- 
nished house  of  fairly  cheerful  aspect,  with  a  garden  behind.  But 
here  again  he  found  that  the  large  furnished  houses  were  out  of 
the  question,  because  they  were  unnecessarily  expensive,  and  that 
the  smaller  ones  were  mostly  to  be  found  in  slunimy  streets; 
while  in  both  cases  there  was  a  difficulty  about  servants.  The 
end  of  it  was  that  he  took  the  first  floor  of  an  old-fashioned  house 
in  Hans  Place,  being  induced  to  do  so  partly  because  the  landlady 
was  a  bright,  pleasant-looking  little  Frenchwoman,  and  partly  be- 
cause the  rooms  were  furnished  and  decorated  in  a  fashion  not 
common  to  lodging-houses. 

Then  came  the  question  of  terms,  references,  and  what  not; 
and  on  all  of  these  points  Mr.  Brand  showed  himself  remarkably 
complaisant.     But  when  all  this  was  done  he  sat  down,  and  said, 

"  Now  I  wish  you  to  understand  me  clearly,  madame.  This 
lady  I  have  told  you  about  has  come  through  much  trouble;  you 
are  to  be  kind  to  her,  and  I  will  see  you  do  not  lose  by  it.  Her 
daughter  will  come  to  see  her  frequently,  perhaps  every  day  ;  I 
suppose  the  young  lady's  maid  can  remain  down-stairs  some- 
where." 

"  Oh  yes,  sir." 

"Very  well.  Xow  if  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  get  me  pen 
and  ink  I  will  give  you  a  check  for  fifty-two  pounds — that  is,  a 
pound  a  -week  for  a  year.  You  see,  there  are  a  number  of  little 
Idndnesses  you  could  show  this  poor  lady  that  would  be  all  the 
more  appreciated  if  they  were  not  put  down  in  a  book  and 
charged  for :  you  understand  ?  You  could  find  out,  perhaps, 
from  time  to  time  some  little  delicacy  she  is  fond  of.  Then 
flowers :  there  is  a  good  florist's  shop  in  Sloane  Street,  is  there 
not?" 

"  Oh  yes,  sir." 

She  brought  the  ink,  and  he  drew  out  the  check. 

"  Then  when  the  young  lady  comes  to  see  her  mother  you  will 
be  very  attentive  and  kind  to  her  too.  You  must  not  wait  for 
them  to  ask  for  this  or  that ;  you  must  come  up  to  the  door  and 
say, '  Will  not  the  young  lady  have  a  cup  of  chocolate  ?'  or  what- 
ever you  can  suggest — fruit,  biscuits,  wine,  or  what  not.  And 
as  these  little  extra  things  will  cost  you  something,  I  cannot  al- 
low you  to  be  out  of  pocket ;  so  here  is  a  fund  for  you  to  draw 


A    KEW    IIOMK.  297 

from  ;  and,  of  course,  not  a  word  to  either  of  the  ladies.  I  think 
you  understand  ?'' 

"rerfeclly,  sir,"  said  niadanic. 

"  Then,  if  I  licar  that  you  have  been  very  kind  and  obliu-inof, 
I  suppose  one  nii<>;lit  be  allowed  from  time  to  time  to  send  you 
a  little  present — something  to  beautify  your  house  with  ?  You 
have  pretty  rooms;  you  have  shown  great  taste  in  decorating 
them." 

"  Oh,  not  I,  sir,"  said  the  little  Frenchwoman  ;  "  I  took  the 
house  as  it  stands  from  Mr. ." 

"The  architect,"  said  Brand.  "Ah,  that  explains.  But  I  am 
surprised  he  should  have  used  gas." 

"That  was  my  doing,"  said  the  landlady,  with  some  pride.  "  It 
is  a  great  improvement.     It  is  so  convenient,  is  it  not  f 

"  My  dear  madame,"  said  Brand,  seriously,  "  it  cannot  be  con- 
venient to  have  one's  lungs  poisoned  with  the  smoke  of  London 
gas.  You  must  on  no  account  allow  this  lady  who  is  coming  to 
}'our  house  to  sit  through  the  long  evenings  with  gas  blazing  over 
her  head  all  the  time  ;  why,  she  would  have  continual  headache. 
No,  no,  you  must  get  a  couple  of  lamps — one  for  the  piano  there, 
and  a  smaller  reading-one  for  this  little  table  ]>y  the  fire.  Then 
these  sconces,  you  will  get  candles  for  them,  of  course;  red  ones 
look  pretty — not  pink,  but  red." 

The  French  landlady  seemed  rather  dismayed.  She  had  been 
all  smiles  and  courtesy  so  far ;  but  now  the  bargain  did  not  prom- 
ise to  be  so  profitable  if  this  was  the  way  she  was  to  begin.  But 
Brand  pulled  out  his  watch. 

"If  you  will  allow  me,"  said  he,  "I  will  go  and  get  a  few 
things  to  make  the  room  look  homely.  You  see  this  lady  must 
be  made  as  comfortable  as  possible,  for  she  will  see  no  one  but 
her  daughter,  and  all  the  evenings  she  will  be  alone.  Now  will 
you  be  so  good  as  to  have  the  fire  lit?  And  these  little  things 
that  I  am  about  to  got  for  you,  of  course  thoy  will  become  your 
property  ;  only  you  need  not  say  who  presented  them  to  you,  you 
perceive  ?" 

The  little  woman's  face  grew  happy  again,  and  she  assured  him 
fervently  and  repeatedly  that  he  might  trust  to  her  to  do  her  best 
for  this  lady  about  whom  he  seemed  so  anxious. 

It  was  almost  dusk  when  he  went  out ;  most  of  the  shops  in 
Sloane  Street  had  their  windows  lit.     He  set  about  this  further 

13* 


298  SUNRISE. 

task  of  his  witli  an  eager  delight.  For  although  it  was  ostensibly 
for  Natalie's  mother  that  he  was  buying  this  and  buying  that, 
there  was  an  underlying  consciousness  that  Natalie  herself  would 
be  pleased — that  many  and  many  a  time  she  would  occupy  that 
pretty  little  sitting-room,  that  perhaps  she  might  guess  who  it  was 
who  had  been  so  thoughtful  about  her  mother  and  herself.  Fort- 
unately Sloane  Street  is  an  excellent  shopping  thoroughfare;  he 
got  everything  he  wanted — even  wax-candles  of  the  proper  tint 
of  red.  lie  first  of  all  went  to  the  florist's  and  aot  fruit  and 
flowers  enough  to  decorate  a  hall.  Then  from  shop  to  shop  he 
wandered,  buying  books  here,  a  couple  of  lamps  there,  a  low, 
softly -cushioned  easy -chair,  a  fire-screen,  pastils,  tins  of  sweet 
biscuits,  a  dozen  or  two  of  Hungarian  wine,  a  tea-making  appa- 
ratus, a  box  of  various  games,  some  white  rose  scent,  and  he  was 
very  nearly  adding  a  sewing-machine,  but  thought  he  would  wait 
to  see  whether  she  understood  the  use  of  that  instrument.  All 
these  and  many  other  articles  were  purchased  on  the  explicit  con- 
dition that  they  were  to  be  delivered  in  Hans  Place  within  the 
following  half-hour. 

Then  he  went  back  to  the  lodging-house,  carrying  in  his  hand 
the  red  candles.  These  he  placed  himself  in  the  sconces,  and  lit 
them  ;  the  effect  was  good,  now  that  the  fire  was  blazing  cheer- 
fully. One  by  one  the  things  arrived ;  and  gradually  the  lodg- 
ing-house sitting-room  grew  more  and  more  like  a  home.  He 
put  the  flowers  here  and  there  about  the  place,  the  little  French- 
woman having  brought  him  such  small  jars  and  vases  as  were  in 
her  possession — these  fortunately  including  a  couple  of  bits  of 
modern  Venetian  glass.  The  reading-lamp  was  lit  and  put  on 
the  small  table;  the  newly  imported  easy-chair  was  drawn  to 
the  fire ;  some  books  and  the  evening  papers  scattered  about. 
He  lit  one  of  the  pastils,  put  the  fire-screen  in  its  place,  and  had 
a  last  look  round. 

Then  he  got  into  a  hansom  and  drove  up  to  the  house  in  the 
Edgware  Road.  He  was  immediately  admitted  and  shown  up- 
stairs. Natalie's  mother  rose  to  receive  him  ;  he  fancied  she  had 
been  crying. 

"I  am  come  to  take  you  to  your  new  rooms,"  he  said,  cheer- 
fully.    "  They  are  a  little  better  than  these." 

"Ah,  that  is  kind  of  you,"  she  said,  also  speaking  in  French; 
"but  in  truth  what  do  I  care  where  I  am  ?     Mv  heart  is  full  of 


A    NEW    HOME.  290 

joy.  It  is  enounfh  for  me  to  sit  quiet  and  say  to  myself, '  My 
child  loves  me.  She  has  not  turned  away  from  me.  She  is  more 
beautiful  even  than  1  had  believed ;  and  she  has  a  good  heart.  I 
have  no  lon<>er  any  fear.'  " 

"Yes,  niadame,"  said  he,  "but  you  must  not  sit  quiet  and 
think  like  that,  or  you  will  become  ill,  and  then  how  are  you  to 
2;o  out  walkiui!;  with  Natalie?  You  have  many  things  to  do,  and 
jnany  things  to  decide  on.  For  example,  you  will  have  to  explain 
to  her  how  it  is  you  may  not  go  to  her  father's  house.  At  this 
moment  what  other  thing  than  that  do  you  imagine  she  is  think- 
ing about?     She  will  ask  you." 

"I  would  rather  not  tell  her,"  said  the  mother,  absently  ;  "it 
is  better  she  should  not  know." 

lie  hesitated  for  a  second  or  two. 

"Then  it  is  impossible  that  a  reconciliation  between  your  hus- 
band and  yourself — " 

"  Oh  no,  no  I"  she  said,  somewhat  sadly  ;  "  that  is  impossible, 
now." 

"And  you  are  anxious  he  should  not  know  that  you  and  your 
daughter  see  each  other." 

"I  am  not  so  anxious,"  she  said.  "  I  have  faith  in  Xatalushka: 
I  can  perceive  lier  courage.     But  perhaps  it  would  be  better." 

"  Very  well.  Then  come  to  these  other  rooms  I  have  got  for 
you ;  they  are  in  a  more  secluded  neighborhood." 

"  Very  well,  monsieur.  I  have  but  few  things  with  me.  I  will 
be  ready  soon." 

In  less  tlian  half  an  hour  after  that  the  French  landlady  was 
receiving  her  new  guest ;  and  so  eager  was  she  to  show  to  the 
English  gentleman  her  gratitude  for  his  substantial  presents,  that 
her  oflRcious  kindness  was  almost  burdensome. 

"I  thank  you,"  said  the  new-comer,  with  a  smile,  as  the  land- 
lady brought  her  a  cushion  for  her  back  the  moment  she  sat 
down  in  the  easy-chair,  "  but  I  am  not  yet  an  invalid." 

Then  would  madame  have  some  tea  ?  Or  perhaps  madamc  had 
not  dined?  There  was  little  in  the  house;  but  something  could 
be  prepared  at  once ;  from  to-morrow  morning  madame's  instruc- 
tions would  be  fulfilled  to  the  letter.  To  get  rid  of  her.  Brand 
informud  her  that  madame  had  not  dined,  and  would  be  glad  to 
have  anything  that  happened  to  be  in  the  house.  Then  she  left, 
and  he  was  about  to  leave  also. 


:300  8UNKISE. 

"No,"  said  the  beautiful  mother  to  him,  with  a  smile  on  the 
pale  face.     "  Sit  down  ;  I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 

lie  sat  down,  his  hat  still  in  his  hand. 

"I  have  not  thanked  you,"  she  said.  "  I  see  who  has  done  all 
this  :  do  you  think  a  stranger  Avould  know  to  have  the  white- 
rose  scent  for  me  that  Natalie  uses  ?  She  was  right :  you  are 
kind — you  think  of  others." 

"  It  is  nothing — it  is  nothing,"  he  said,  hastily,  and  with  all  an 
Englishman's  embarrassment. 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  his  companion,  with  a  grave  kindness 
in  her  tone,  and  a  look  of  affectionate  interest  in  her  eyes,  "  I 
am  going  to  prove  my  gratitude  to  you.  I  am  going  to  prevent 
— what  do  you  call  it? — a  lovers'  quarrel." 

He  started. 

"Yesterday,"  she  continued,  still  regarding  him  in  that  kindly 
way,  "  before  we  left  your  rooms,  Natalushka  was  very  reserved 
toward  you  ;  was  it  not  so  ?     I  perceived  it ;  and  you  ?" 

"  I — I  thought  she  was  tired,"  he  stammered. 

"To-morrow  you  are  to  fetch  her  here;  and  what  if  you  find 
her  still  more  reserved — even  cold  toward  vou  ?  You  will  be 
pained,  perhaps  alarmed.  Ah,  my  dear  friend,  life  is  made  very 
bitter  sometimes  by  mistakes;  so  it  is  that  I  must  tell  you  the 
reason.  The  child  loves  you ;  be  sure  of  that.  Yes ;  but  she 
thinks  that  she  has  been  too  frank  in  saying  so — in  time  of 
trouble  and  anxiety  ;  and  now — now  that  you  are  perhaps  not 
going  to  America — now  that  perhaps  all  the  trouble  is  over — 
now  she  is  beffinninc:  to  think  she  oug-ht  to  be  a  little  more  dis- 
creet,  as  other  young  ladies  are.  The  child  means  no  harm,  but 
you  and  she  must  not  quarrel." 

He  took  her  hand  to  bid  her  good-bye. 

"Natalie  and  I  are  not  likely  to  quarrel,"  said  he,  cheerfully. 
"  Now  I  am  going  away.  If  I  stayed,  you  would  do  nothing  but 
talk  about  her,  whereas  it  is  necessary  that  you  should  have  some 
dinner,  then  read  one  of  these  books  for  an  hour  or  so,  then  go 
to  bed  and  have  a  long,  sound  night's  rest.  You  must  be  look- 
ing your  brightest  when  she  comes  to  sec  you  to-morrow." 

And  indeed,  as  it  turned  out  subsequently,  this  warning  of  the 
mother's  was  not  wholly  unnecessary.  Next  day  at  eleven  o'clock, 
as  had  previously  been  arranged.  Brand  met  Natalie  at  the  corner 
of  Great  Stanhope  Street  to  escort  her  to  the  house  to  which  her 


A    NEW    HOME.  301 

mother  had  removed.  He  had  not  even  got  into  the  park  witli 
her  when  he  jjcrccived  that  her  manner  was  distinctly  reserved. 
Aiuieli  was  with  her,  and  she  kept  talking  from  time  to  time  tu 
the  Httle  maid,  wlio  was  thus  obliged,  greatly  against  her  will,  to 
walk  close  ta  lur  mistress.     At  last  Brand  said, 

"Natalie,  have  1  offended  you?" 

"  Oh  no  !"  she  said,  in  a  hurried,  low  voice. 

"  Natalie,"  said  he,  very  gently,  "  I  once  heard  of  a  wicked 
creature  who  was  determined  to  play  the  hypocrite,  and  might 
have  done  a  great  deal  of  mischief,  onlv  she  had  a  most  amiable 
mother,  who  stepped  in  and  gave  somebody  else  a  warning. 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  wicked  person  V 

The  blood  mounted  to  her  face.  13y  this  time  Anneli  had 
taken  leave  to  fall  behind. 

"Then,"  said  the  girl,  with  some  hesitation,  and  yet  witli  firm- 
ness, "you  will  not  misunderstand  me.  If  all  the  circumstances 
are  to  be  altered,  then — then  you  must  forget  what  I  have  said 
to  you  in  moments  of  trouble.  I  have  a  right  to  ask  it.  You 
must  forget  the  past  altogether." 

"But  it  is  impossible  !" 

"  It  is  necessary." 

For  some  minutes  they  walked  on  in  silence.  Then  he  felt  a 
timid  touch  on  his  arm;  her  hand  had  been  laid  there,  dcprecat- 
ingly,  for  a  moment. 

"Are  you  angry  with  me?" 

"No,  I  am  not,"  said  he,  frankly,  "for  the  very  reason  that 
what  you  ask  is  impossible,  unnecessary,  absurd.  You  might  as 
well  ask  me  to  forget  that  I  am  alive.  In  any  case,  isn't  it  rather 
too  soon?  Are  you  so  sure  that  all  the  trouble  is  past?  Wait 
till  tlie  storm  is  well  over,  and  wc  are  going  into  port,  then  we 
will  put  on  our  Sunday  manners  to  go  ashore." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  angry  with  me,"  she  said  again,  timidly. 

"You  could  not  make  me,  if  you  tried,"  he  said,  simply  ;  "  but 
I  am  proud  of  you,  Natalie — proud  of  the  courage  and  clearness 
and  frankness  of  your  character,  and  I  don't  like  to  see  you  fall 
away  from  that,  and  begin  to  consider  what  a  school-mistress 
would  think  of  you." 

"  It  is  not  what  any  one  may  think  of  me  that  I  consider ;  it 
is  what  I  think  of  myself,"  she  answered,  in  the  same  low  voice. 

Tliev  reached  Hans  Place.     The  mother  was  at  the  door  of 


302  SUNRISE. 

the  room  to  welcome  them.     She  took  her  daughter  by  the  hand 
and  led  lier  in. 

"Look  round,  Xatalushka,"  she   said.     "Can  you  guess  who 
has  arranged  all  this  for  me — for  me  and  for  you  ?" 

The  girl  almost  instantly  turned — her  eyes  cast  down — and  took 
her  lover's  hand,  and  kissed  it  in  silence.     That  was  all. 

Then  said  he,  lightly,  as  he  shoved  the  low  easy-chair  nearer 
the  fire, 

"Come,  madame,  and  sit  down  here;  and  you,  Natahishka, 
here  is  a  stool  for  you,  that  you  will  be  able  to  lean  your  head  on 
your  mother's  knee.  There ;  it  is  a  very  pretty  group ;  do  you 
know  wliy  I  make  you  into  a  picture  ?  Well,  you  see,  these  are 
troubled  times ;  and  one  has  one's  work  to  do ;  and  who  can  tell 
what  may  happen?  But  don't  you  see  that,  whatever  may  hap- 
pen, I  can  carry  away  with  me  this  picture  ;  and  always,  wherever 
I  may  be,  I  can  say  to  myself  that  Natalie  and  her  mother  are 
together  in  the  quiet  little  room,  and  that  they  are  happy.  Now 
I  must  bid  you  good-bye ;  I  have  a  great  deal  of  business  to-day 
with  my  solicitor.  And  the  landlady,  madame :  how  does  she 
serve  you  ?" 

"She  overwhelms  me  with  kindness," 

"  That  is  excellent,"  said  he,  as  he  shook  hands  with  them  and, 
against  both  their  protests,  took  his  leave. 

He  carried  away  that  picture  in  his  mind.  He  had  left  these 
tw'o  together,  and  they  were  happy.  What  mattered  it  to  him 
what  became  of  himself? 

It  was  on  the  evening  of  that  day  that  he  had  to  obey  the 
summons  of  the  Council. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

A    CONCLAVE. 

Punctual  to  the  moment  George  Brand  arrived  in  Lisle  Street. 
He  was  shown  into  an  inner  room,  where  he  found  Lind  seated 
at  a  desk,  and  Reitzei  and  Beratinsky  standing  by  the  fireplace. 
On  an  adjacent  table  were  four  cups  of  black  coffee,  four  small 
glasses,  a  bottle  of  brandy,  and  a  box  of  cigarettes. 

Lind  rose  to  receive  him,  and  was  very  courteous  indeed — apol- 


A    CONCLAVE.  30^ 

ogizing  for  having  had  to  break  in  on  his  preparations  for  leav- 
ing, and  otfering  him  coffee,  cigarettes,  and  what  not.  \\'hen  the 
new-coiner  had  declined  these,  Liud  resumed  his  place  and  begged 
the  others  to  be  seated. 

"  We  will  proceed  to  business  at  once,  gentlemen,"  said  he, 
speaking  in  quite  an  ordinary  and  matter-of-fact  way,  "although, 
1  will  confess  to  you,  it  is  not  business  entirely  to  my  likiiif*-. 
I'erhaps  I  should  not  say  so.  This  paper,  you  sec,  contains  my 
authorization  from  the  Council  to  sumnaon  you  and  to  explain 
the  service  they  demand :  perhaps  I  should  merely  obey,  and  say 
nothing.     But  we  are  friends;  we  can  speak  in  confidence." 

Here  Reitzci,  who  was  even  more  pallid  than  usual,  and  whose 
fingers  seemed  somewhat  shaky,  tilled  one  of  the  small  glasses  of 
brandy,  and  drank  it  off. 

"I  do  not  say  that  I  hesitate,"  continued  Lind — "that  I  am 
reluctant,  because  the  service  that  is  required  from  us — from  one 
of  us  four  —  is  dangerous  —  is  exceedingly  dangerous.  No,"  he 
said,  with  a  brief  smile,  "as  far  a*  I  am  myself  concerned,  I  have 
carried  my  life  in  my  hands  too  often  to  think  much  about  that. 
And  you,  gentlemen,  considering  the  obligations  you  have  ac- 
cepted, I  take  it  that  the  question  of  possible  harm  to  yourselves 
is  not  likely  to  interfere  with  your  obedience  to  the  commands  of 
the  Council." 

"As  for  me,"  said  Reitzei,  eagerly  and  nervously,  "I  tell  you 
this,  I  should  like  to  have  something  exciting  now — I  do  not  care 
what.  I  am  tired  of  this  work  in  London ;  it  is  slow,  regular, 
like  the  ticking  of  a  clock.  I  am  for  something  to  stir  the  blood 
a  little.     I  say  that  I  am  ready  for  anything." 

"  As  for  me,"  said  Beratinsky,  curtly,  "  no  one  has  ever  yet 
called  me  a  coward." 

Brand  said  nothing;  but  he  perceived  that  this  was  sometliing 
unusually  serious,  and  almost  unconsciously  he  closed  liis  right 
hand  that  he  might  feel  the  clasp  of  Natalie's  ring.  There  was 
no  need  to  appeal  to  his  oaths  of  allegiance. 

Lind  proceeded,  in  a  graver  fashion, 

"  Yes,  I  confess  that  personally  I  am  for  avoiding  violence,  for 
proceeding  according  to  law.  But  then  the  Council  would  say, 
perhaps,  'Are  there  not  injuries  for  which  the  law  gives  no  re- 
dress? Are  there  not  those  who  are  beyond  the  power  of  the 
law?     And  we,  who  have  given   our  lives  to  the  redressing  of 


304  SUNRISE. 

wrono's,  to  the  protection  of  the  poor,  to  the  establisliment  of  the 
right,  are  we  to  stand  by  and  sec  the  moral  sense  of  the  commu- 
nity oiitrao-ed  by  those  in  liigh  places,  and  say  no  word,  and  lift 
norland?'" 

He  took  up  a  book  that  was  lying  on  the  table,  and  opened  it 
at  a  marked  page. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  there  are  occasions  on  which  a  man  may  just- 
ly take  the  law  into  his  own  hands ;  may  break  the  law,  and  go 
beyond  it,  and  punish  those  whom  the  law  has  failed  to  punish ; 
and  the  moral  sense  of  the  world  will  say, '  Well  done !'  Did  you 
ever  happen  to  read,  Mr.  Brand,  the  letter  written  by  Madame  von 
Maderspach  V 

Brand  started  at  the  mention  of  the  name :  it  recalled  the  first 
evening  on  which  he  had  seen  Natalie.  What  strange  things  had 
happened  since  then  !  He  answered  that  he  did  not  know  of 
Madame  von  Maderspach's  letter. 

"  By  chance  I  came  across  it  to-day,"  said  Lind,  looking  at  the 
book.  "  Listen  :  '  I  was  torn  from  the  arms  of  my  husband,  from 
the  circle  of  my  children,  from  the  hallowed  sanctuary  of  my 
home,  charged  with  no  offence,  allowed  no  hearing,  arraigned  be- 
fore no  judge.  I,  a  woman,  wife,  and  mother,  was  in  my  own 
native  town,  before  the  people  accustomed  to  treat  me  with  re- 
spect, dragged  into  a  square  of  soldiers,  and  there  scourged  with 
rods.  Look,  I  can  write  this  without  dropping  dead !  But  my 
husband  killed  himself.  Robbed  of  all  other  weapons,  he  shot 
himself  with  a  pocket-pistol.  The  people  rose,  and  would  have 
killed  those  who  instigated  these  horrors,  but  their  lives  were 
saved  by  the  interference  of  the  military.'  Very  well.  Von  Ma- 
derspach took  his  own  way  ;  he  shot  himself.  But  if,  instead  of 
doino-  that,  he  had  taken  the  law  into  his  own  hands,  and  killed 
the  author  of  such  an  outrage,  do  you  think  there  is  a  human  be- 
ing in  the  world  who  would  have  blamed  him?" 

He  appealed  directly  to  Brand.  Brand  answered  calmly,  but 
with  his  face  grown  rather  white,  "  I  think  if  such  a  thing  were 
done  to — to  my  wife,  I  would  have  a  shot  at  somebody." 

Perhaps  Lind  thought  that  it  was  the  recital  of  the  wrongs  of 
Madame  von  Maderspach  that  had  made  this  man's  face  grew 
white,  and  given  hiin  that  look  about  the  mouth  ;  but  at  all  events 
he  continued,  "  Exactly  so.  I  was  only  seeking  to  show  you 
that  there  are  occasions  on  which  a  man  might  justly  take  the 


A    CONCLAVK.  '."Aio 

law  into  liis  own  liands.  Well,  then,  some  would  argne — I  don't 
say  so  myself,  hut  some  would  say — that  what  a  man  mav  do 
justly  an  association  may  do  justly.  What  would  the  quick- 
spreading  civilization  of  America  have  done  but  for  the  Lvnch 
tiihunals  ?  The  respectable  people  said  to  themselves,  'It  is  a 
question  of  life  or  death.  Wc  have  to  attack  those  scoundrels  at 
once,  or  society  will  be  destroyed.  AVe  cannot  wait  for  the  law  : 
it  is  powerless.'  And  so,  when  the  president  had  given  his  de- 
cision, out  they  went  and  caught  the  scoundrels,  and  strung  them 
u[)  to  the  nearest  tree.  You  do  not  call  them  nmrderers.  Jdliu 
Lynch  ought  to  have  a  statue  in  every  Western  Stale  in  Amer- 
ica." 

"  Certainlv,  certainly  !"  exclaimed  Reitzei,  reaching  over  and  fill- 
ing  out  another  glass  of  brandy  with  an  unsteady  hand.  lie  was 
usually  an  exceedingly  temperate  person.  "  We  are  all  agreed. 
Justice  must  be  done,  whotlicr  the  law  allows  or  not;  I  say  the 
quicker  the  better." 

Lind  paid  no  heed  to  liiuj,  but  ]irocccded  quietly,  "Now  I  will 
come  more  directly  to  what  is  recjuired  of  us  by  the  Council ;  1 
have  been  trying  to  guess  at  llicir  view  of  the  question;  perhaps 
I  am  altogether  wrong;  but  no  matter.  And  I  will  ask  you  to 
imagine  yourselves  not  here  in  this  free  country  of  England,  where 
the  law  is  strong — and  not  only  that,  but  you  have  a  public  opin- 
ion that  is  stronger  still — and  where  it  is  not  possible  that  a  great 
Churchman  should  be  a  man  living  in  open  iniquity,  and  an  op- 
pressor and  a  scoundrel — I  will  ask  ynu  to  imagine  yourselves  liv- 
ing in  Italy,  let  one  say  in  the  raj)al  Territory  itself,  where  the 
reign  of  Christ  should  be,  and  where  the  poor  should  be  cared  for, 
if  there  is  Christianity  still  on  the  earth.  And  you  are  poor,  let  us 
say;  hardly  knowing  how  to  scrape  together  a  handful  of  food 
sometimes  ;  and  your  children  ragged  and  hungry ;  and  you 
forced  from  time  to  time  to  go  to  the  Monte  di  Pieta  to  pa\<*n 
your  small  belongings,  or  else  you  will  die,  or  yon  will  see  vour 
children  die  before  your  eyes." 

"Ah,  yes,  yes!"  exclaimed  Reitzei.  "That  is  the  worst  of  it 
— to  see  one's  children  die !  That  is  worse  than  one's  own 
hunger." 

"And  you,"  continued  Lind,  quietly,  but  still  with  a  little 
more  distinctness  of  emphasis,  "you,  you  poor  devils,  you  see  a 
great  dignitary  of  the  Church,  a  great  prince  among  priests,  liv- 


306  SUNRISE. 

ing  in  sliameless  luxury,  in  violation  of  every  law,  human  and  di- 
vine, with  the  children  of  his  mistresses  set  up  in  palaces,  himself 
livino-  on  the  fat  of  the  land.  "What  law  does  he  not  break, 
this  libertine,  this  usurer?  What  makes  the  corn  dear,  so  that 
you  cannot  get  it  for  your  starving  children?  —  what  but  this 
plunderer,  this  robber,  seizing  the  funds  that  extremity  has  drag- 
ged from  the  poor  in  order  to  buy  up  the  grain  of  the  States? 
A  pretty  speculation !  No  wonder  that  you  mnrnnir  and  com- 
plain ;  that  you  curse  him  under  your  breath  ;  that  you  call  him 
il  cardinale  affamatore.  And  no  wonder,  if  you  liappen  to  be- 
long to  a  great  association  that  has  promised  to  see  justice  done, 
no  wonder  you  come  to  that  association  and  say,  '  Masters,  why 
cannot  justice  be  done  now?  It  is  too  long  to  wait  for  the  Mil- 
lennium. Remove  this  oppressor  from  the  face  of  the  earth: 
down  with  the  Starving  Cardinal !'  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes !"  cried  Reitzei,  excitedly.  Beratinsky  sat  silent 
and  sullen.  Brand,  with  some  strange  foreboding  of  what  was 
coming,  still  sat  with  his  hand  tight  closed  on  Natalie's  ring. 

"More,"  continued  Lind — and  now,  if  he  was  acting,  it  was  a 
rare  piece  of  acting,  for  wrath  and  indignation  gathered  on  his 
brow,  and  increased  the  emphasis  of  his  voice — "it  is  not  only 
your  purses,  it  is  not  only  your  poor  starved  homesteadings  that 
are  attacked,  it  is  the  honor  of  vour  women.  Whose  sister  or 
daughter  is  safe?  Mr.  Brand,  one  of  your  English  poets  has 
made  the  poor  cry  to  the  rich, 

"  '  Our  sons  are  jour  slaves  by  day, 
Our  daughters  your  slaves  by  night.' 

But  what  if  some  day  a  poor  man — I  will  tell  you  his  name — liis 
name  is  De  Bedros ;  he  is  not  a  peasant,  but  a  helpless,  poor  old 
man — what  if  this  man  conies  to  the  great  association  that  I  have 
mentioned  and  says,  wringing  his  hands,  '  My  Brothers  and  Com- 
panions, you  have  sworn  to  protect  the  weak  and  avenge  the  in- 
jured :  what  is  your  oath  worth  if  you  do  not  help  me  now  ?  My 
daughter,  my  only  daughter,  has  been  taken  from  me,  she  has 
been  stolen  from  my  side,  shrieking  with  fear,  and  I  thrown 
bleeding  into  the  ditch.  By  whom  ?  By  one  who  is  beyond 
the  law  ;  who  laughs  at  the  law  ;  who  is  the  law  !  But  you — you 
will  be  the  avengers.  Too  long  has  this  monster  outraged  the 
name  of  Christ  and  insulted  the  forbearance  of  his  fellow-creat- 


A    CONCLAVE.  307 

urcs :  my  Brothers,  tliis  is  wliat  I  demand  from  your  liands — I 
demand  from  tlie  Society  of  the  Seven  Stars — 1  demand  from 
yon,  the  (.'onncil  —  I  demand,  my  lirotlicrs  and  Coni[)anii)ns,  a 
decree  of  death  aaainst  the  monster  Zaccatclli  I'" 

"Yes,  yes,  yes,  the  decree!"  slioiited  Keitzei,  all  trembling. 
"  Who  could  refuse  it?     Or  I  myself — " 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Lind,  calmly,  "the  decree  has  been  granted. 
Here  is  my  authority  ;  read  it." 

]Ie  held  out  the  paper  first  of  all  to  Brand,  who  took  it  in  both 
his  hands,  and  forced  himself  to  go  over  it.  But  he  could  not 
read  it  very  carefully  ;  his  heart  was  beating  quickly ;  he  was 
thinking  of  a  great  many  things  all  at  once — of  Lord  Evelyn,  of 
Natalie,  of  his  oaths  to  the  Society,  even  of  his  Berkshire  home 
and  the  beech- woods,  lie  handed  on  the  paper  to  Keitzei,  who 
was  far  too  much  excited  to  read  it  at  all.  Beratinsky  merely 
glanced  at  it  carelessly,  and  put  it  back  on  the  table. 

"Gentlemen,"  Lind  continued,  returning  to  his  unemotional 
manner,  "personally,  I  consider  it  just  that  this  man,  whom  the 
law  cannot  or  docs  not  choose  to  reach,  should  be  punished  for 
his  long  career  of  cruelty,  oppression,  and  crime,  and  punished 
with  death  !  but,  as  1  confessed  to  you  before,  1  could  have  wish- 
ed that  that  punishment  had  not  been  delivered  by  our  hands. 
"We  have  made  great  progress  in  England;  and  we  have  been 
preaching  nothing  but  peace  and  good-will,  and  the  use  of  lawful 
means  of  amelioration.  If  this  deed  is  traced  to  our  Society,  as 
it  almost  certainly  will  be,  it  will  do  us  a  vast  amount  of  injury 
here;  for  the  p]ng]ish  people  will  not  be  able  to  understand  that 
such  a  state  of  affairs  as  1  have  described  can  exist,  or  that  this  is 
the  only  remedy.  As  I  said  to  you  before,  it  is  with  great  reluc- 
tance that  I  summoned  you  here  to-night — " 

"  Why  so.  Brother  Lind  ?"  Reitzei  broke  in,  and  again  he  reach- 
ed over  for  the  bottle.     "  We  are  not  cowards,  then  ?" 

Beratinsky  took  the  bottle  from  liim  and  put  it  back  on  the 
table. 

Reitzei  did  not  resent  tliis  interference;  he  onlv  tried  to  roll 
up  a  cigarette,  and  did  not  succeed  very  well  with  his  trembling 
fingers. 

"You  will  liave  seen,"  said  Lind,  continuing  as  if  there  had 
been  no  interruption,  "  why  the  Council  have  demanded  this  dntv 
of  the  English  section.     The  lesson  would  be  thrown  away  alto- 


308  SUNRISE. 

getlicr — a  valuable  life  belonging  to  the  Society  would  be  lost — 
if  it  were  supposed  that  tliis  was  an  act  of  private  revenge.  No; 
tlic  death  of  Cardinal  Zaccatclli  will  be  a  warning  that  Europe 
will  take  to  heart.  At  least,"  he  added,  thoughtfully,  "  I  hope  it 
will  prove  to  be  so,  and  I  hope  it  will  be  unnecessary  to  repeat 
the  warning." 

"You  are  exceedingly  tender-hearted,  Brother  Lind,"  said 
Reitzei.  "  Do  you  pity  this  man,  then  ?  Do  you  think  he  should 
flourish  his  crimes  in  the  face  of  the  world  for  another  twenty, 
thirty  years  ?" 

"It  is  unnecessary  to  say  what  I  think,"  observed  Lind,  in  the 
same  quiet  fashion.  "  It  is  enough  for  us  that  we  know  our 
duty.     The  Council  have  commanded;   we  obey." 

"Yes;  but  let  us  come  to  the  point,  Brother  Lind,"  said  Bera- 
tinsky,  in  a  somewhat  surly  fashion.  "  I  do  not  much  care  what 
happens  to  me ;  yet  one  wishes  to  know." 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Lind,  composedly,  "you  know  that  among 
the  ordinances  of  the  Society  is  one  to  the  effect  that  no  member 
shall  be  sent  on  any  duty  involving  peril  to  his  life  without  a  bal- 
lot among  at  least  four  persons.  As  this  particular  service  is  one 
demanding  great  secrecy  and  circumspection,  I  have  considered  it 
right  to  limit  the  ballot  to  four — to  ourselves  four,  in  fact." 

There  was  not  a  word  said. 

"That  the  duty  involves  peril  to  life  is  obvious;  it  will  be  a 
miracle  if  he  who  undertakes  this  affair  should  escape.  As  for 
myself,  you  will  perceive  by  the  paper  you  have  read  that  I  am 
commissioned  by  the  Council  to  form  the  ballot,  but  not  instruct- 
ed to  include  myself.  I  could  avoid  doing  so  if  I  chose,  but  Avhen 
I  ask  my  friends  to  run  a  risk,  I  am  Avilling  to  take  the  same  risk. 
For  the  rest,  I  have  been  in  as  dangerous  enterprises  before." 

He  leaned  over  and  pulled  toward  him  a  sheet  of  paper. 
Then  he  took  a  pair  of  scissors  and  cut  the  sheet  into  four  pieces ; 
these  he  proceeded  to  fold  up  until  they  were  about  the  size  of  a 
shilling,  and  identically  alike.     All  the  time  he  was  talking. 

"Yes,  it  will  be  a  dangerous  business,"  he  said,  slowly,  "and 
one  requiring  great  forethought  and  caution.  Then  I  do  not  say 
it  is  altogether  impossible  one  might  escape;  though  then  the 
warning,  the  lesson  of  this  act  of  punishment  might  not  be  so  ef- 
fective: thev  miij-ht  mistake  it  for  a  Camorra  affair,  thouo;h  the 
Cardinal  himself  already  knows  otherwise." 


A    CONCLAVE,  309 

lie  opened  a  bottle  of  red  ink  tliat  stood  by. 

"The  simplest  means  arc  siillieient,"  said  he.  "Tiii.s  is  how 
we  used  to  settle  aifairs  in  '48." 

He  opened  one  of  the  pieces  of  paper,  and  put  a  cross  in  red 
on  it,  which  he  dried  on  the  blotting-paper.  Then  he  folded  it 
up  again,  threw  the  four  pieces  into  a  pasteboard  box,  put  down 
the  lid,  and  shook  the  box  lightly. 

"  Whoever  draws  the  red  cross,"  he  said,  almost  indifferently, 
"carries  out  the  command  of  the  Council.  Have  you  anything 
to  say,  gentlemen — to  suggest?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Reitzei,  boldly. 

Lind  regarded  him. 

"What  is  the  use  of  the  ballot?"  said  the  pallid-faced  young 
man.  "  What  if  one  volunteers?  I  should  myself  like  to  settle 
the  business  of  the  scoundrelly  Cardinal." 

Lind  shook  his  head. 

"  Impossible.  Calabressa  thought  of  a  volunteer  ;  he  was  mad  ! 
There  must  be  a  ballot.     Come  ;  shall  we  proceed  ?" 

He  opened  the  box  and  put  it  before  Beratinsky.  Beratinsky 
took  out  one  of  the  papers,  opened  it,  glanced  at  it,  crumpled  it 
up,  and  threw  it  into  the  fire. 

"  It  isn't  I,  at  all  events,"  he  said. 

It  was  Reitzei  next.  When  he  glanced  at  the  paper  he  had 
drawn,  he  crushed  it  together  with  an  oath,  and  dashed  it  on  the 
floor. 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  he  exclaimed,  "  just  when  I  was  eager 
for  a  bit  of  active  service.  So  it  is  either  you,  Brother  Lind,  or  our 
friend  Brand  who  is  to  settle  the  business  of  the  Starving  Cardinal." 

Calmly,  almost  as  a  matter  of  course,  Lind  handed  the  box  to 
George  Brand;  and  he,  being  a  proud  man,  and  in  the  presence 
of  foreigners,  was  resolved  to  show  no  sign  of  emotion  whatever. 
When  he  took  out  the  paper  and  opened  it,  and  saw  his  fate 
there  in  the  red  cross,  he  laid  it  on  the  table  before  him  without 
a  word.     Then  he  shut  his  hand  on  Natalie's  ring. 

"  W^ell,"  said  Lind,  rather  sadly,  as  he  took  out  the  remaining 
paper  without  looking  at  it,  and  threw  aside  the  box,  "  I  almost 
regret  it,  as  between  you  and  me.  I  have  less  of  life  to  look  for- 
ward to." 

"  I  would  like  to  ask  one  question,"  said  Brand,  rising :  he  was 
perfectly  firm. 


310  SUNRISE. 

"  Yes  ?"       ' 

"  The  orders  of  the  Council  must  be  oLe^'ed.  I  only  wish  to 
know  whether  —  when  —  when  this  thing  comes  to  be  done — I 
must  declare  my  own  name?" 

"  Not  at  all — not  at  all !"  Lind  said,  quickly.  "  You  may  use 
any  name  you  like." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  he  said.  Then,  with  the  same  proud, 
impassive  tirmness,  he  made  an  appointment  for  the  next  day, 
got  his  hat  and  coat,  bade  his  companions  good-night,  and  went 
down-stairs  into  the  cold  night  air.  He  could  not  realize  as  yet 
all  that  had  happened,  but  his  first  quick,  instinctive  thought  had 
been, 

"  Ah,  not  that — not  the  name  that  my  mother  bore  !" 


CHAPTER  XLT. 

IN    THE    DEEPS. 

The  sudden  shock  of  the  cold  night  air  was  a  relief  to  his 
burning  brain ;  and  so  also,  as  he  passed  into  the  crowded  streets, 
was  the  low,  continuous  thunder  all  around  him.  The  theatres 
were  coming  out;  cabs,  omnibuses,  carriages  added  to  the  muf- 
fled roar;  the  pavements  were  thronged  with  people  talking, 
laughing,  jostling,  calling  out  one  to  the  other.  He  was  glad  to 
lose  himself  in  this  seething  multitude ;  he  was  glad  to  be  hidden 
by  the  darkness;  he  would  try  to  think. 

But  his  thoughts  were  too  rapid  and  terrible  to  be  very  clear. 
He  only  vaguely  knew — it  was  a  consciousness  that  seemed  to 
possess  both  heart  and  brain  like  a  consuming  fire — that  the  beau- 
tiful dreams  he  bad  been  dreaming  of  a  future  beyond  the  wide 
Atlantic,  with  Natalie  living  and  working  by  his  side,  her  proud 
spirit  cheering  him  on,  and  refusing  to  be  daunted — these  dreams 
had  been  suddenly  snatched  away  from  him ;  and  in  their  stead, 
right  before  him,  stood  this  pitiless,  inexorable  fate.  He  could 
not  quite  tell  how  it  had  all  occurred,  but  there  at  least  was  the 
horrible  certaint}',  staring  him  right  in  the  face.  He  could  not 
avoid  it;  lie  could  not  shut  his  eyes  to  it,  or  draw  back  from  it; 
there  was  no  escape.  Then  some  wild  desire  to  have  the  thing 
done  at  once  possessed  him.     At  once — at  once — and  then  the 


IN    THE    DEEPS.  311 

grave  would  cover  over  liis  remorse  and  despair.  Natalie  would 
forget;  she  liad  her  inuther  now  to  console  her.  Evelyn  would 
say,  "Poor  devil,  he  was  not  the  first  wlio  got  into  mischief  by 
meddling  in  schemes  witlmiit  kimwiiig  how  far  he  might  have 
to  go."  Then  amidst  all  this  confused  din  of  the  London  streets, 
what  was  the  phrase  that  ke[)t  ringing  in  his  ears? — "And  when 
she  bids  die  lie  shall  surelt/  dieP''  But  he  no  longer  heard  the 
pathetic  vibration  of  Natalie  Lind's  voice ;  the  words  sounded  to 
him  solemn,  and  distant,  and  hopeless,  like  a  knell.  But  only  if 
it  were  over — that  was  again  his  wild  desire.  In  the  grave  was 
forgetful uess  and  peace. 

Presently  a  curious  fancy  seized  him.  At  the  corner  of  Wind- 
mill Street  a  ragged  youth  was  bawling  out  the  name  of  a  French 
journal.  Brand  bought  a  copy  of  the  journal,  passed  on,  and 
walked  into  an  adjacent  cafe,  and  took  a  seat  at  one  of  the  small 
tables.  A  waiter  came  to  him,  and  he  mechanically  ordered  cof- 
fee. He  began  to  search  this  newspaper  for  the  array  of  para- 
graphs usually  headed  Tribunaux. 

At  last,  in  a  corner  of  the  newspaper,  he  found  that  heading, 
though  under  it  there  was  nothing  of  any  importance  or  interest. 
But  it  was  the  heading  itself  that  had  a  strange  fascination  for 
him.  lie  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  it.  Then  he  began  to  see  de- 
tached phrases  and  sentences  —  or,  perhaps,  it  was  only  in  his 
brain  that  he  saw  them  :  "  The  Assassination  of  Count  Zaccatelli! 
The  accused,  an  Englishman,  who  refuses  to  declare  his  name, 
admits  that  he  had  no  personal  enmity — commanded  to  execute 
this  horrible  ciime — a  punishment  decreed  by  a  society  which  he 
will  not  name — confesses  his  guilt — is  anxious  to  be  sentenced  at 
once,  and  to  die  as  soon  as  the  law  permits. . . .  This  morning 
the  assassin  of  Cardinal  Zaccatelli,  who  has  declared  his  name  to 
be  Edward  Bernard,  was  executed." 

He  hurriedly  folded  up  the  paper,  just  as  if  he  were  afraid 
of  some  one  overlooking  and  reading  these  words,  and  glanced 
around.  No  one  was  regarding  him.  The  cafe  was  nearly  full, 
and  there  was  plenty  of  laughing  and  talking  amidst  the  glare  of 
the  gas.  He  slunk  out  of  the  place,  leaving  his  coffee  untasted. 
But  when  he  had  got  outside  he  straightened  himself  up,  and  his 
face  assumed  a  firmer  expression.  He  walked  ijuickly  along  to 
Clarges  Street.  The  Evelyns'  house  was  dark  from  top  to  bot- 
tom ;  apparently  the  family  had  retired  for  the  night.    "  Perhaps 


312  SUNRISE. 

he  is  at  the  Century,"  Brand  said  to  himself,  as  he  started  off 
ao-ain.  But  just  as  he  got  to  the  corner  of  the  street  a  hansom 
drove  up,  and  the  driver,  taking  the  corner  too  quickly,  sent  the 
wheel  on  to  the  curb. 

"  Why  don't  you  look  where  you're  going  to  ?"  a  voice  called 
out  from  the  inside  of  the  cab. 

"  Is  that  you,  Evelyn  ?"  Brand  cried. 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  was  the  reply ;  and  the  hansom  was  stopped,  and 
Lord  Evelyn  descended.  "  I  am  happy  to  say  that  I  can  still  an- 
swer for  myself.     I  thought  we  were  in  for  a  smash." 

"Can  you  spare  me  five  minutes?" 

"  Five  hours  if  you  like." 

The  man  was  paid ;  the  two  friends  walked  along  the  pave- 
ment together. 

"I  am  glad  to  have  found  you  after  all,  Evelyn,"  Brand  said. 
"  The  fact  is,  my  nerves  have  had  a  bad  shake." 

"  I  never  knew  you  had  any.  I  always  fancied  you  could  drive 
a  fire-brigade  engine  full  gallop  along  the  Strand  on  a  wet  night, 
with  the  theatres  coming  out." 

"A  few  minutes'  talk  with  you  will  help  me  to  pull  myself  to- 
gether again.     Xeed  we  go  into  the  house?" 

"  We  sha'n't  wake  anybody." 

They  noiselessly  went  into  the  house,  and  passed  along  the  hall 
until  they  reached  a  small  room  behind  the  dining-room.  The 
gas  was  lit,  burning  low.  There  were  biscuits,  seltzer-water,  and 
spirits  on  the  table. 

Lord  Evelyn  was  in  the  act  of  turning  the  gas  higher,  when  he 
happened  to  catch  sight  of  his  friend.  He  uttered  a  quick  excla- 
mation. Brand,  who  had  sat  down  on  a  chair,  was  crying,  with 
his  hands  over  his  face,  like  a  woman. 

"Great  heavens,  what  is  it.  Brand?" 

That  confession  of  weakness  did  not  last  long.  Brand  rose  to 
his  feet  impatiently,  and  took  a  turn  or  two  up  and  down  the 
small  room. 

"What  is  it?  Well,  I  have  received  my  sentence  to-night, 
Evelyn.  But  it  isn't  that  —  it  is  the  thought  of  those  I  shall 
leave  behind — Natalie,  and  those  boys  of  my  sister's — if  people 
were  to  find  out  after  all  that  they  were  related  to  me !" 

He  was  looking  at  the  things  that  presented  themselves  to  his 
own  mind ;  he  forgot  that  Evelyn  could  not  understand ;  he  al- 


IN"    THE    DEEPS.  -MS 

most  forpjot  that  lie  was  spcakin;^  aloud.  Jjiit  by-and-hy  he  got 
himself  better  under  control,  lie  sat  down  acjain.  lie  forced 
himself  to  speak  calmly  :  the  only  sign  of  emotion  was  that  his 
face  was  rather  pale,  and  his  eyes  looked  tired  and  harassed. 

"  Yes,  I  told  you  my  nervous  system  had  got  a  shock,  Evelyn  ; 
but  I  think  I  have  got  over  it.  It  won't  do  for  one  in  my  posi- 
tion to  abandon  one's  self  to  sentiment." 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  what  you  nican." 

Brand  regarded  him. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  the  whole  thing,  but  this  will  be  enough. 
The  Council  have  decreed  the  death  of  a  certain  person,  and  I 
am  appointed  his  executioner." 

*'  You  arc  raving  mad !" 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  better  if  I  were,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh. 
"However,  such  is  the  fact  The  ballot  was  taken  to-night; 
the  lot  fell  to  mc.     I  have  no  one  to  blame  except  myself." 

Lord  Evelyn  was  too  horrified  to  speak.  The  calm  manner  of 
his  companion  ought  to  have  carried  conviction  with  it ;  and  yet 
— and  yet — how  could  such  a  thing  be  possible  ? 

"Yes,  I  blame  myself,"  Brand  said,  "for  not  having  made  cer- 
tain reservations  when  ])ledging  myself  to  the  Societ}'.  But  how 
w;is  one  to  think  of  such  things  ?  When  Lind  used  to  denounce 
the  outrages  of  the  Nihilists,  and  talk  with  indignation  of  the 
useless  crimes  of  the  Camorra,  how  could  one  have  thought 
it  possible  that  assassination  should  be  demanded  of  you  as  a 
duty  ?" 

"  But  Lind,"  Lord  Evelyn  exclaimed — "  surely  Lind  docs  not 
approve  of  such  a  thing !'' 

"No,  he  does  not,"  Brand  answered.  "lie  says  it  will  prove 
a  misfortune — " 

"Then  why  docs  he  not  protest?" 

"  Protest  against  a  decree  of  the  Council '.''  the  other  exclaimed. 
"You  don't  know  as  much  as  I  do,  Evelyn,  about  that  Council. 
No,  I  have  sworn  obedience,  and  I  will  obey." 

He  had  recovered  his  firmness;  he  seemed  resigned  —  even 
resolved.     It  was  his  friend  who  was  excited. 

"  I  tell  you  all  the  oaths  in  the  world  cannot  compel  a  man  to 
commit  murder,"  Evelyn  said,  hotly. 

"Oh,  they  don't  call  it  murder,"  Brand  replied,  without  any 
bitterness  whatever;  "they  call  it  a  punishment,  a  warning  to 

14 


314  SfXKISE. 

the  evil-doers  of  Europe.  And  no  doubt  this  man  is  a  great 
scoundrel,  and  cannot  be  reached  by  the  law ;  and  then,  besides, 
one  of  the  members  of  the  Society,  who  is  poor  and  old,  and 
w  ho  has  suffered  grievous  wrong  from  this  man,  has  appealed  to 
the  Council  to  avenge  him.  No ;  I  can  sec  their  position.  I 
have  no  doubt  thev  believe  thev  are  acting  iustlv." 

"  But  you  yourself  do  not  think  so." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  it  is  not  for  the  private  soldier  to  ask  wheth- 
er his  sovereign  has  gone  to  war  justly  or  unjustly.  It  is  liis 
business  to  obey  commands — to  kill,  if  need  be — according  to 
his  oath." 

"  Why,  you  arc  taking  the  thing  as  a  matter  of  course,"  Lord 
Evelyn  cried,  indignantly.  "  I  cannot  believe  it  possible  yet ! 
And — and  if  it  were  possible — consider  how  I  should  upbraid 
myself:  it  was  I  who  led  you  into  this  affair.  Brand." 

"  Oh  no,"  said  the  other,  absently. 

He  was  starino-  into  the  smouldering  fire :  and  for  a  second  or 
two  he  sat  in  silence.     Then  he  said,  slowly  and  thoughtfully, 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  led  a  very  selfish  life.  Natalie  would  not 
say  so;  she  is  generous.  But  it  is  true.  "Well,  this  will  make 
some  atonement.  She  will  know  that  I  kept  my  word  to  her. 
She  gave  me  that  ring,  Evelyn." 

He  held  out  his  hand  for  a  moment. 

''  It  Avas  a  pledge  that  I  should  never  draw  back  from  my 
allefriance  to  the  Societv.  Well,  neither  she  nor  I  then  fancied 
this  thing  could  happen  ;  but  now  I  am  not  going  to  turn  cow- 
ard. You  saw  me  show  the  white  feather,  Evelyn,  for  a  minute 
or  two:  I  don't  think  it  was  about  myself;  it  was  about  her — 
and — and  one  or  two  others.  You  see  our  talking  together  has 
sent  off  all  that  nervous  excitement;  now  we  can  speak  about 
business — " 

"I  will  not  —  I  will  not  I"  Evelyn  said,  still  greatly  moved. 
"I  will  go  to  Lind  himself.  I  will  tell  him  that  no  duty  of  this 
kind  was  ever  contemplated  by  any  one  joining  here.  It  may 
be  all  very  well  for  Naples  or  Sicily ;  it  won't  do  for  the  people 
on  this  side  the  Channel  :  it  will  ruin  his  work  :  he  must  appeal 
— I  will  drive  him  to  it !" 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  Brand  said,  quietly,  "  I  told  you  Lind  has 
accepted  the  execution  of  this  affair  with  reluctance.  He  knows 
it  will  do  our  work — well,  ray  share  in  it  will  be  soon  over — no 


IN    THE    DEEl'S.  315 

good.  But  in  this  business  there  is  no  appeal.  You  are  only 
a  coinpaiiion  ;  you  don't  know  wliat  strin<;X'nt  vows  you  have  to 
undertake  when  you  get  into  tlie  other  grades.  Moreover,  I  must 
tell  you  this  thing  to  his  credit.  lie  is  not  bound  to  take  the 
risk  of  the  ballot  liiniself,  but  he  did  to-night.  It  is  all  over  and 
settled,  Evelyn.  "What  is  one  man's  life,  more  or  less  ?  Peo- 
ple go  to  throw  away  hundreds  of  thousands  of  lives  '  with  a 
light  heart.'  And  even  if  this  alfair  should  crive  a  slioht  shock 
to  some  of  our  friends  here,  the  effect  will  not  be  permanent. 
The  organization  is  too  big,  too  strong,  too  eager,  to  be  really  in- 
jured by  such  a  trifle.    I  want  to  talk  about  business  matters  now." 

"  I  won't  hear  you — I  will  not  allow  this,"  Lord  Evelyn  pro- 
tested, trembling  with  excitement. 

"You  must  hear  me  ;  the  time  is  short,"  Brand  said,  with  de- 
cision. "  When  this  thing  has  to  be  done  I  don't  know  ;  I  shall 
probably  hear  to-morrow ;  but  I  must  at  once  take  steps  to  pre- 
vent shame  falling  on  the  few  relatives  I  have.  I  shall  pretend 
to  set  out  on  some  hunting-expedition  or  other — Africa  is  a  good 
big  place  for  one  to  lose  one's  self  in — and  if  I  do  not  return,  what 
then  ?  I  shall  leave  you  my  executor,  Evelyn  ;  or,  rather,  it  will 
be  safer  to  do  the  whole  thing  by  deed  of  gift.  I  shall  give  my 
sister's  eldest  son  the  Buckinghamshire  place ;  then  I  must  leave 
the  other  one  something.  Five  hundred  pounds  at  four  per  cent, 
■would  pay  that  poor  devil  Kirski's  rent  for  him,  and  help  him  on 
a  bit.  Then  I  am  going  to  make  vou  a  present,  Evclvn :  so  vou 
see  you  shall  benefit  too.  Then  as  for  Natalie — or  rather,  her 
mother — " 

"Her  mother!"     Evelyn  stared  at  him. 

"  Natalie's  mother  is  in  London  :  you  will  learn  her  story  from 
herself,"  Brand  continued,  briefly.  "  In  the  mean  time,  do  not 
tell  Lind  until  she  permits  you.  I  have  taken  rooms  for  her  in 
Hans  Place,  and  Natalie  will  no  doubt  go  to  see  her  each  day ; 
but  I  am  afraid  the  poor  lady  is  not  very  well  off,  for  the  family 
lias  always  been  in  political  troubles.  Well,  you  see,  Evelyn,  I 
could  leave  you  a  certain  sum,  the  interest  of  which  you  could 
manage  to  convey  to  her  in  some  roundabout  and  delicate  way 
that  would  not  hurt  her  pride.     You  could  do  this,  of  course." 

"But  you  are  talking  as  if  your  death  was  certain  !"  Lord  Eve- 
lyn exclaimed,  rather  wildly.  "Even  if  it  is  all  true,  you  miglit 
escape." 


316  suxiiisE. 

Brand  turned  away  his  Lead  as  lie  spoke. 

"Do  you  tliinlc,  tlicn,"  he  said,  slowly,  "that,  even  if  that  were 
possible,  I  should  care  to  live  red-handed?  The  Council  cannot 
demand  that  of  me  too.  If  there  is  one  bullet  for  him,  the  next 
one  will  be  for  myself ;  and  if  I  miss  the  first  shot  I  shall  make 
sure  about  the  second.  There  will  be  no  examination  of  the 
prisoner,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned.  I  shall  leave  a  paper  stating 
the  object  and  cause  of  my  attempt;  but  I  shall  go  into  it  name- 
less, and  the  happiest  thing  I  can  hope  for  is  that  forgetfulness 
"will  gather  round  it  and  me  as  speedily  as  may  be." 

Lord  Evelyn  was  deeply  distressed.  He  could  no  longer  re- 
fuse to  believe ;  and  inadvertently  he  bethought  himself  of  the 
time  when  he  had  besought  and  entreated  this  old  friend  of  his 
to  join  the  great  movement  that  was  to  regenerate  Europe.  Was 
this  the  end,  then — a  vulgar  crime  ? — the  strong,  manly,  generous 
life  to  be  thrown  away,  and  Natalie  left  broken-hearted? 

"What  about  her?"  he  asked,  timidly. 

"  About  Natalie,  do  you  mean  ?"  said  Brand;  starting  somewhat. 
"  Curiously  enough,  I  was  thinking  about  her  also.  I  was  won- 
dering whether  it  could  be  concealed  from  her — whether  it  would 
not  be  better  to  let  her  imagine  with  the  others  that  I  had  got 
drowned  or  killed  somewhere.  But  I  could  not  do  that.  The 
uncertainty  would  hang  over  her  for  years.  Better  the  sharp 
pain  at  once — of  parting;  then  her  mother  must  take  charge 
of  her  and  console  her,  and  be  kind  to  her.  What  I  fear  most 
is  that  she  may  blame  herself — she  may  fancy  that  she  is  some- 
how responsible — " 

"  It  is  I,  surely,  who  must  take  that  blame  on  myself,"  said 
Lord  Evelyn,  sadly.  "  But  for  me,  how  could  you  have  been  led 
into  joining  the  Society?" 

"Neither  she  nor  you  have  anything  to  reproach  yourselves 
with.  What  was  my  life  worth  to  me  when  I  joined  ?  Tlien  for 
a  time  I  saw  a  vision  of  what  may  yet  be  in  the  world — of  what 
will  be,  please  God  ;  and  what  does  it  matter  if  one  here  or  one 
there  falls  out  of  the  ranks? — the  great  army  is  moving  on :  and 
for  a  time  there  were  other  visions.  Poor  Natalie ! — I  am  glad 
her  mother  has  come  to  her  at  last." 

He  rose. 

"  I  wish  I  could  offer  you  a  bed  here,"  Lord  Evelyn  said. 

"I  have  a  great  many  things  to  arrange  to-night,"  he  an- 


IN    THE    UEEPS.  ."17 

swered,  simply.  "  Perhaps  I  may  not  be  able  to  get  to  bed 
at  all." 

Lord  Evelyn  hesitated. 

"  When  can  I  sec  you  to-morrow?"  he  said  at  length.  "You 
know  I  am  going  to  Lind  the  first  thing  in  the  morning." 

Brand  stopped  abruptly. 

"  I  must  absolutely  forbid  your  doing  anything  of  the  kind," 
said  he,  firmly.  "This  is  a  matter  of  the  greatest  secrecy  ;  there 
is  to  be  no  talking  about  it;  I  have  given  you  some  hint,  and 
the  same  I  shall  give  to  Xatalie,  and  there  an  end."  lie  added, 
"  Your  interference  would  be  quite  useless,  Evelyn.  The  matter 
is  not  in  Lind's  hands." 

He  bade  his  friend  good-night. 

"  Thank  you  for  letting  me  bore  you  so  long.  You  see,  I  ex- 
pected talking  over  the  thing  would  drive  oS  that  first  shock  of 
nervousness.  Now  I  am  going  to  play  the  part  of  Karl  Sand  with 
indifference.  "When  you  hear  of  me,  you  will  think  I  must  have 
been  brought  up  by  the  Tugendbiind  or  the  Carbonari,  or  some 
of  those  societies. 

This  cheerfulness  did  not  quite  deceive  Lord  Evelyn.  lie  bade 
Iiis  friend  good-night  with  some  sadness ;  his  miad  was  not  at 
case  about  the  share  he  attributed  to  himself  in  this  calamity. 

AYhen  Brand  reached  his  chambers  in  Buckingham  Street  there 
was  a  small  parcel  awaiting  him.  He  opened  it,  and  found  a  box 
with,  inside,  a  tiny  nosegay  of  sweet- smelling  flowers.  These 
were  not  half  as  splendid  as  those  he  had  got  the  previous  after- 
noon for  the  rooms  in  Hans  Place,  but  there  was  something  ac- 
companying them  that  gave  them  suflicient  value.  It  was  a  strip 
of  paper,  and  on  it  was  written — "  From  Natalie  and  from  Nata- 
lushka,  with  more  than  thanks." 

"I  will  carry  them  with  me,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "until 
the  day  of  my  death.  I'crhaps  they  may  not  have  quite  wither- 
ed bv  then." 


318  SUNRISE. 


CHAPTER  XLTI. 

A     COMMUNICATION. 

Now,  lie  said  to  liimself,  he  would  think  no  more ;  he  would 
act.  The  long  talk  witli  Lord  Evelyn  had  enabled  him  to  pull 
himself  together;  there  would  be  no  repetition  of  that  half-hys- 
terical collapse.  More  than  one  of  his  officer-friends  had  confess- 
ed to  him  that  they  had  spent  the  night  before  their  first  battle 
in  abject  terror,  but  that  that  had  all  gone  off  as  soon  as  they 
were  called  into  action.  And  as  for  himself,  he  had  many  things 
to  arrange  before  starting  on  this  hunting-expedition,  which  was 
to  serve  as  a  cloak  for  another  enterprise.  He  Avould  have  to 
write  at  once,  for  example,  to  his  sister — an  invalid  Avidow,  who 
passed  her  life  alternately  on  the  Riviera  and  in  Switzerland — in- 
forming her  of  his  intended  travels.  lie  would  have  to  see  that 
a  sufficient  sum  was  left  for  Natalie's  mother,  and  put  into  dis- 
creet hands.  The  money  for  the  man  Kirski  would  liave  to  be 
properly  tied  up,  lest  it  should  prove  a  temptation.  Why,  those 
two  pieces  of  Italian  embroidery  lying  there,  he  had  bought  them 
months  ago,  intending  to  present  them  to  Natalie,  but  from  time 
to  time  the  opportunity  had  been  missed.  And  so  forth,  and  so 
forth. 

But  despite  all  this  fortitude,  and  these  commonplace  and  prac- 
tical considerations,  his  eyes  would  wander  to  that  little  handful 
of  flowers  lying  on  the  table,  and  his  thoughts  would  wander  far- 
ther still.  As  he  pictured  to  himself  his  going  to  the  young 
Hungarian  girl,  and  taking  her  hand,  and  telling  lier  that  now 
it  was  no  longer  a  parting  for  a  couple  of  years,  but  a  parting 
forever,  his  heart  grew  cold  and  sick.  He  thought  of  her  terri- 
fied eyes,  of  her  self-reproaches,  of  her  entreaties,  perhaps. 

"  I  wish  Evelyn  would  tell  her,"  he  murmured  aloud,  and  he 
went  to  the  window.  "  Surely  it  would  be  better  if  I  were  never 
to  see  her  again." 

It  was  a  long  and  agonizing  night,  despite  all  his  resolutions. 
The   gray  morning,  appearing   palely    over   the   river   and  the 


A    COMMUNICATION.  319 

bridges,  found  lilin  still  pacing  up  and  down  there,  with  nothing 
settled  at  all,  no  letter  written,  no  ineinoranda  made.  All  that  the 
night  had  done  was  to  inereasc  a  hundred-fold  his  dread  of  meet- 
ing Natalie.  And  now  the  daylight  only  told  him  that  that  in- 
terview was  coming  nearer.     It  had  become  a  question  of  liours. 

At  last,  worn  out  with  fatigue  and  despair,  he  threw  himself 
on  a  coueh  hard  by,  and  presently  sunk  into  a  broken  and  troubled 
sleep.  For  now  the  mind,  emancipated  from  the  control  of  the 
will,  ran  riot;  and  the  quick-changing  pictures  that  were  present- 
ed to  liim  were  full  of  fearful  things  that  shook  liis  very  life  with 
terror.  Awake,  he  could  force  himself  to  think  of  tliis  or  that ; 
asleep,  lie  was  at  the  mercy  of  this  lurid  imagination  that  seemeil 
to  dye  each  successive  scene  in  the  hue  of  blood.  First  of  all, 
lie  was  in  a  great  catiiedral,  sombre  and  vast,  and  by  the  dim 
light  of  the  candles  he  saw  that  some  solemn  ceremony  was  go- 
ing forward.  Priests,  mitred  and  robed,  sat  in  a  semicircle  in 
front  of  the  altar;  on  the  altar-steps  were  three  figures;  behind 
the  altar  a  space  of  gloom,  from  whence  issued  the  soft,  clear 
singing  of  the  choristers.  Then,  suddenly,  into  that  clear  sweet 
singing  broke  a  loud,  blare  of  trumpets ;  a  man  bounded  on  to 
the  altar-steps;  there  was  the  flash  of  a  blade — a  shriek — a  fall ; 
then  the  roar  of  a  crowd,  sullen,  and  distant,  and  awful.  It  is 
the  cry  of  a  great  city;  and  this  poor  crouching  fugitive,  who 
hides  behind  the  fountain  in  the  IMace,  is  watching  for  his  chance 
to  dart  away  into  some  place  of  safety.  But  the  crowd  have  let 
him  pass;  they  are  merciful;  they  are  glad  of  the  death  of  their 
enemy ;  it  is  only  the  police  ho  has  to  fear.  What  lane  is  dark 
enough  ?  What  ruins  must  he  haunt,  like  a  dog,  in  the  night- 
time? But  the  night  is  full  of  fire,  and  the  stars  overhead  are 
red,  and  everywhere  there  is  a  roar  and  a  murmur — the  aasassina- 
tion  of  the  Cardinal ! 

"Well,  it  is  quieter  in  this  dungeon  ;  and  soon  there  will  be  an 
end,  and  peace.  But  for  the  letters  of  fire  that  burn  one's  brain 
the  place  would  be  as  black  as  night ;  and  it  is  still  as  night ;  one 
can  sit  and  listen.  And  now  that  dull  throbbing  sound — and  a 
strain  of  music — is  it  the  young  wife  who,  all  unknowing,  is  dig- 
ging her  husband's  grave  ?  How  sad  she  is !  She  pities  the  poor 
prisoner,  whoever  he  may  be.  She  would  not  dig  this  grave  if 
she  knew:  she  calls  herself  Fiddio  ;  she  is  faithful  to  her  love. 
But  now — but  now — though  this  hole  is  black  as  niaht,  and  si- 


020  SUNBISE. 

lent,  and  the  waters  are  lapping  outside,  cannot  one  Icnow  what 
is  passing  there?  There  arc  some  who  are  born  to  be  happy. 
Ah,  look  at  the  faithful  wife  now,  as  she  strikes  off  her  husband's 
fetters — listen  to  the  glad  music,  dcsdn  ormai  fclice ! — they  take 
each  other's  hand — they  go  away  proudly  into  the  glad  daylight 
— husband  and  wife  together  for  evermore.  This  poor  prisoner 
listens,  though  his  heart  Avill  break.  The  happy  music  grows 
more  and  more  faint — the  husband  and  wife  are  together  now — 
the  beautiful  white  day  is  around  them — the  poor  prisoner  is  left 
alone :  there  is  no  one  even  coming  to  bid  him  farewell. 

The  sleeper  moaned  in  his  sleep,  and  stretched  out  his  hand 
as  if  he  would  seek  some  other  hand. 

"  No  one — not  even  a  word  of  good-bye  !"  he  mnrmured. 

But  then  the  dream  changed.  And  now  it  was  a  wild  and 
windy  day  in  the  blowing  month  of  March,  and  the  streams  in 
this  Buckinghamshire  valley  were  swollen,  and  the  woods  were 
bare.  Who  are  these  two  who  come  into  the  small  and  bleak 
church-yard?  They  are  a  mother  and  daughter;  they  are  all  in 
black ;  and  the  face  of  the  daughter  is  pale,  and  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears.  Her  face  is  white,  and  the  flowers  she  carries  are 
white,  and  that  is  a  white  tombstone  there  in  the  corner — apart 
from  the  others.  See  how  she  kneels  down  at  the  foot  of  the 
grave,  and  puts  the  flowers  lightly  on  the  grass,  and  clasps  her 
trembling  hands,  and  prays, 

"  Natalie — my  ivife  /"  he  calls  in  his  sleep. 

And  behold  !  the  white  tombstone  has  letters  of  fire  written  on 
it,  and  the  white  flowers  are  changed  to  drops  of  blood,  and  the 
two  black  figures  have  hurried  away  and  disappeared.  How  the 
wind  tears  down  this  wide  valley,  in  which  there  is  no  sign  of 
life.     It  is  so  sad  to  be  left  alone. 

Well,  it  was  about  eight  o'clock  when  he  was  awakened  by  the 
entrance  of  Waters.  He  jumped  up,  and  looked  around,  liaggard 
and  bev>'ildered.     Then  his  first  thought  was, 

"A  few  more  nights  like  this,  and  Zaccatelli  will  have  little  to 
fear." 

He  had  his  bath  and  breakfast;  all  the  time  he  was  forcing 
himself  into  an  indignant  self-contempt.  He  held  out  his  hand 
before  him,  expecting  to  see  it  tremble :  but  no.  This  reassured 
him  somewhat. 

A  little  before  eleven  he  was  at  the  house  in  Hans  I'lace.     He 


A    COMMUNICATION.  321 

was  iinniediatc'ly  sliowii  up-stairs.     Natalie's  mother  was  tlierc  to 
receive  liiin  ;  she  did  not  notice  he  looked  tired. 

"  Natalie  is  coming  to  you  this  morning?"  he  said. 

"Oh  yes;  why  not?  It  gives  her  pleasure;  it  gives  me  joy. 
l>ut  I  will  not  keep  the  child  always  in  the  house;  no,  she  must 
have  her  walk.  Yesterday,  after  you  had  left,  we  went  to  a  very 
secluded  place — a  church  not  far  from  here,  and  a  cemetery  behind." 

"Oh  yes,  I  know,"  he  said.  "But  you  might  have  chosen  a 
more  cheerful  place  for  your  walk." 

"Any  place  is  cheerful  enough  for  me  when  my  daughter  is 
with  me,"  said  she,  simply;  "and  it  is  quiet." 

George  Brand  sat  with  his  liands  clinched.  Every  moment  he 
thought  he  should  hear  Natalie  knock  at  the  door  below. 

"Madame,"  lie  said,  with  some  little  hesitation,  "somctliing  has 
happened  of  serious  importance — I  mean,  of  a  little  importance. 
AVlien  Natalie  comes  I  must  tell  her — " 

"And  you  wish  to  see  licr  alone,  perhaps ?"  said  the  mother, 
lightly.     "  Why  not  ?     And  listen— it  is  she  herself,  I  believe  !" 

A  minute  afterward  the  door  was  opened,  and  Natalie  entered, 
radiant,  liappy,  with  glad  eyes.  Then  she  started  when  she  saw 
George  Brand  there,  but  there  was  no  fear  in  her  look.  On  the 
contrary,  she  embraced  her  mother ;  then  she  went  to  bim,  and 
said,  with  a  pleased  flush  in  lier  face, 

"  I  had  no  message  this  morning.  You  did  not  care,  then,  for 
our  little  bunch  of  flowers  ?" 

lie  took  lier  hand,  and  held  it  for  a  second. 

"I  thought  I  should  see  you  to-day,  Natalie  ;  I  have  somctliing 
to  tell  you." 

Ilcr  face  grew  graver. 

"Is  it  something  serious?" 

"  Well,"  said  he,  to  gain  time,  for  the  mother  was  still  in  the 
room,  "it  is  serious  or  not  serious,  as  you  like  to  take  it.  It  does 
not  involve  the  fate  of  a  nation,  for  cxami)le." 

"  It  is  mysterious,  at  all  events." 

At  this  moment  the  elder  woman  took  occasion  to  slip  noise- 
lessly from  the  room. 

"  Natalie,"  said  he,  "  sit  down  here  by  me." 

She  put  the  footstool  on  which  she  was  accustomed  to  sit  at 
lier  mother's  side  close  to  liis  chair,  and  seated  herself.  He  took 
lier  hand,  and  held  it  tiii'lit. 

14^^ 


322  SUNRISE. 

"  Natalie,"  said  lie,  in  a  low  voice — and  lie  was  liiitisclf  rather 
pale — "  I  am  going  to  tell  you  something  that  may  perhaps  startle 
you,  and  even  grieve  you;  but  you  must  keep  command  over 
yourself,  or  you  will  alarm  your  mother — " 

"You  are  not  in  danger?"  she  cried,  quickly,  but  in  a  low  voice: 
there  was  something  in  his  tone  that  alarmed  her. 

"The  thing  is  simple  enough,"  he  said,  with  a  forced  compos- 
ure. "You  know  that  when  one  has  joined  a  certain  Society, 
and  especially  when  one  has  accepted  the  responsibilities  I  have, 
there  is  nothing  that  may  not  be  demanded.  Look  at  this  ring, 
Natalie." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  said,  breathlessly. 

"  That  is  a  sufficient  pledge,  even  if  there  were  no  others.  I 
have  sworn  allegiance  to  the  Society  at  all  hazards ;  I  cannot  re- 
treat now." 

"But  is  it  so  very  terrible ?"  she  said,  hurriedly.  "Dearest,  I 
will  come  over  to  you  in  America.  I  have  told  my  mother;  she 
will  take  me  to  you — " 

"  I  am  not  going  to  America,  Natalie." 

She  looked  up  bewildered. 

"I  have  been  commissioned  to  perform  another  duty,  more  im- 
mediate, more  definite.  And  I  must  tell  you  now,  Natalie,  all  that 
I  dare  tell  you :  you  must  be  prepared ;  it  is  a  duty  which  Avill 
cost  me  my  life  !" 

"  Your  life  ?"  she  repeated,  in  a  bewildered,  wild  way,  and  she 
hastily  drew  her  hand  awav  from  his.     "  Your  life  ?" 

"Hush,  Natalie!" 

"You  are  to  die!"  she  exclaimed,  and  she  gazed  with  terror- 
stricken  eyes  into  his  face.  She  forgot  all  about  his  allegiance  to 
the  Society ;  she  forgot  all  about  her  theories  of  self-sacrifice ; 
she  only  heard  that  the  man  she  loved  was  doomed,  and  she  said, 
in  a  low,  hoarse  voice,  "And  it  is  I,  then,  who  have  murdered 
you!" 

"Natalie!"  he  cried,  and  he  would  have  taken  her  hand  again, 
but  she  withdrew  from  him,  shuddering.  She  clasped  her  hands 
over  her  face. 

"  Oh,  do  not  touch  mc,"  she  said,  "  do  not  come  near  me.  I 
have  murdered  you :  it  is  I  who  have  murdered  you  !" 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  Natalie,  be  calm  !"  he  said  to  her,  in  a  low, 
earnest  voice.    "  Think  of  your  mother :  do  not  alarm  her.     You 


A    COMMUXICATIOX.  323 

knew  \vc  might  be  parted  for  years — well,  this  parting  is  a  little 
worse  to  bear,  that  is  all — and  you,  who  gave  inc  this  ring,  you 
arc  not  going  to  say  a  word  of  regret.  No,  no,  Natalushka,  many 
thousands  and  thousands  of  people  in  the  world  have  gone  through 
what  stands  before  us  now,  and  wives  have  parted  from  their 
husbands  Avithout  a  single  tear,  so  proud  were  they." 

She  looked  up  quickly  ;  her  face  was  white. 

"I  have  no  tears,"  she  said,  "none!  But  some  wives  have 
gone  with  their  husbands  into  the  danger,  and  have  died  too — 
ah,  how  happy  that  were  for  any  one  I — and  T,  why  may  not  I 
go?     I  am  not  afraid  to  die." 

He  laid  his  hand  gently  on  the  dark  hair. 

"  My  child,  it  is  impossible,"  he  said  ;  and  then  he  added,  rath- 
er sadly,  "  It  is  not  an  enterprise  that  any  one  is  likely  to  gain 
any  honor  by — it  is  far  from  that ;  but  it  has  to  be  undertaken 
— that  is  enough.  As  for  you — you  have  your  mother  to  care 
for  now  ;  will  not  that  fill  your  life  with  gladness  ?" 

"  How  soon — do — you  go  away  ?"  she  asked,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Almost  immediately,"  he  said,  watching  her.  She  had  not 
shed  a  single  tear,  but  there  was  a  strange  look  on  her  face. 
"  Nothing  is  to  be  said  about  it.  I  shall  be  supposed  to  have 
started  on  a  travelling-expedition,  that  is  all." 

"And  you  go — forever?" 

"Yes." 

She  rose. 

"  We  shall  sec  you  yet  before  you  go  ?" 

"  Natalie,"  he  said,  in  despair,  "  I  had  come  to  try  to  say  good- 
bye to  you;  but  I  cannot,  my  darling,  I  cannot!  I  must  see 
you  again." 

"I  do  not  understand  why  you  should  wish  to  see  ao^ain  one 
like  me,"  she  said,  slowly,  and  the  voice  did  not  sound  like  her 
own  voice.  "I  have  given  you  over  to  death;  and,  more  than 
that,  to  a  death  that  is  not  honorable;  and  yet  I  cannot  even 
tell  you  that  I  am  grieved.  Ihit  there  is  pain  here."  She  put 
her  hand  over  her  heart;  she  staggered  back  a  little  bit;  he 
caught  her. 

"  Natalie— Natalie !" 

"  It  is  a  pain  that  kills,"  she  said,  wildly. 

"  Natalie,  where  is  your  courage?  1  give  mv  life  witliout 
question  ;  you  must  bear  your  part  too." 


324  SUNRISE. 

She  still  held  her  liand  over  her  bosom. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  as  if  slic  had  not  heard  him,  "  that  is  wliat 
they  say;  it  kills,  this  pain  ia  the  heart.  Why  not — if  one  does 
not  wish  to  live  ?'' 

At  this  moment  the  door  was  opened,  and  the  mother  came 
into  the  room. 

"  Madame,"  said  Brand,  qnichly,  "  come  and  speak  to  your 
daughter.  I  have  had  to  tell  her  something  that  has  upset  her, 
perhaps,  for  a  moment ;  but  you  will  console  her ;  she  is  brave." 

"  Child,  how  you  tremble,  and  how  cold  your  hands  are !"  the 
mother  cried. 

"  It  does  not  matter,  mother.  From  every  pain  there  is  a  re- 
lease, is  there  not  ?" 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  Natalushka  !" 

"And  I — and  I,  mother — " 

She  was  on  the  point  of  breaking  down,  but  she  held  firm. 
Then  she  released  herself  from  her  mother's  hold,  and  went  for- 
ward and  took  her  lover's  hand,  and  regarded  him  with  the  sad, 
tearless,  beautiful  eyes. 

"  I  have  been  selfish,"  she  said :  "  I  have  been  thinkino;  of  mv- 
self,  when  that  is  needless.  For  me  there  will  be  a  release — 
quickly  enough :  I  shall  pray  for  it.  Now  tell  me  what  I  must 
do  :  I  will  obey  you." 

"  First,  then,"  said  he,  speaking  in  a  low  voice,  and  in  English, 
so  that  her  mother  should  not  understand,  "  you  must  make  light 
of  this  affair,  or  you  will  distress  your  mother  greatly,  and  she  is 
not  able  to  bear  distress.  Some  day,  if  you  think  it  right,  you 
may  tell  her;  you  know  nothing  that  could  put  the  enterprise 
in  peril;  she  will  be  as  discreet  and  silent  as  yourself,  Natalie. 
Then  you  must  put  it  out  of  your  mind,  my  darling,  that  you 
have  any  share  in  what  has  occurred.  AVhat  have  I  to  regret? 
My  life  was  worthless  to  me ;  you  made  it  beautiful  for  a  time ; 
perhaps,  who  knows,  it  may  after  all  turn  out  to  have  been  of 
some  service,  and  then  there  can  be  no  regret  at  all.  They  think 
so,  and  it  is  not  for  me  to  question." 

"  May  I  not  tell  my  mother  now  V  she  said,  imploringly. 
"  Dearest,  how  can  I  speak  to  her,  and  be  thinking  of  you  far 
away  ?" 

"As  you  please,  Natalie.  The  little  I  have  told  you  or  Evelyn 
can  do  no  harm,  so  long  as  you  keep  it  among  yourselves." 


A    QL'ARREr,.  325 

"  But  I  shall  sec  yoii  again  ?"  It  was  liei*  lieait  that  cried  to 
him. 

"Oh  yes,  Natalie,"  he  said,  gravely.  "  I  may  not  liave  to  leave 
England  for  a  week  or  two.  I  will  sec  you  as  often  as  I  can 
until  I  u'o,  niv  darlini;,  thouo'h  it  may  onlv  be  torture  to  you." 

"Torture?"  she  said,  sadly.  "That  will  come  after  —  until 
there  is  an  end  of  the  pain." 

"Hush,  you  must  not  talk  like  that.  You  have  now  one  with 
you  whom  it  is  your  duty  to  support  and  console.  She  has  not 
had  a  very  happy  life  cither,  Natalie." 

lie  was  glad  now  that  he  was  able  to  leave  this  terror-stricken 
girl  in  such  tender  hands.  And  as  for  himself,  he  found,  when 
lie  had  left,  that  somehow  the  strengthening  of  another  had 
strengthened  himself.  lie  had  less  dread  of  the  future;  his  face 
was  linn  ;  the  time  for  vain  regrets  was  over. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

A    QUARREL. 

Meanwhile,  almost  immediately  after  George  Brand  had  left 
the  liousc  in  Lisle  Street,  Reitzei  and  Beratinsky  left  also.  On 
shutting  the  street-door  behind  them,  Beratinsky  bade  a  curt 
good-night  to  his  companion,  and  turned  to  go  ;  but  Kcitzei,  who 
seemed  to  be  in  very  high  spirits,  stayed  him. 

"  No,  no,  friend  Beratinsky ;  after  such  a  fine  night's  work  I 
say  we  must  have  a  glass  of  wine  together.  We  will  walk  up  to 
the  Culturverein." 

"  It  is  late,"  said  the  other,  somewhat  ungraciously. 

"Never  mind.  An  hour,  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  half  an 
hour,  what  matter?  Come,"  said  he,  laying  hold  of  his  arm  and 
taking  him  away  unwillingl}'',  "it  is  not  polite  of  you  to  force 
me  to  invite  myself.  I  do  not  suppose  it  is  the  cost  of  the  wine 
you  are  thinking  of.  Mark  my  words:  when  I  am  elected  a 
member,  I  shall  not  be  stingy." 

Beratinsky  suffered  himself  to  be  led  away,  and  together  the 
two  walked  up  toward  Oxford  Street.  Beratinsky  was  silent, 
and  even  surly  ;  Kcitzei  garrulous  and  self-satisfied. 

"  Yes,  I  repeat  it ;  a  good  night's  work.     For  the  thing  had 


32G  SUNRISE. 

to  be  done ;  tliere  were  tlie  Councirs  orders ;  and  who  so  appro- 
priate as  the  Englishman  ?  Had  it  been  yon  or  I,  Beratinsky,  or 
Lind,  how  could  any  one  of  us  have  been  spared  ?  No  doubt  the 
Englishman  would  have  been  glad  to  have  Lind's  place — yes,  and 
Lind's  danghter,  too :  however,  that  is  all  settled  now,  and  very 
well  done.  I  say  it  was  very  well  done  on  the  part  of  Lind. 
And  wdiat  did  you  think  of  my  part,  friend  Beratinsky  ?" 

"  I  think  you  made  a  fool  of  yourself,  friend  Reitzei,"  said  the 
other,  abruptly. 

Reitzei  was  a  vain  young  man,  and  he  had  been  fishing  for 
praise. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  he  said,  angrily. 

"  What  I  mean  I  say,"  replied  the  other,  with  something  very 
like  cool  contempt.  "  I  say  you  made  a  fool  of  yourself.  When 
a  man  is  drunk,  he  does  his  best  to  appear  sober;  you,  being 
sober,  tried  to  appear  drunk,  and  made  a  fool  of  yourself." 

"  My  friend  Beratinsky,"  said  the  younger  man,  hotly,  "  you 
have  a  right  to  your  own  opinion  —  every  man  has  that;  but 
you  should  take  care  not  to  make  an  ass  of  yourself  by  express- 
ing it.  Do  not  speak  of  things  you  know  nothing  about — that 
is  my  advice  to  you." 

Beratinsky  did  not  answer;  and  the  two  walked  on  in  silence 
until  they  reached  the  Verein,  and  entered  the  long,  resounding 
hall,  which  was  nearly  empty.  But  the  few  members  who  re- 
mained were  making  up  for  their  paucity  of  numbers  by  their 
mirth  and  noise.  As  Beratinsky  and  his  companion  took  their 
seats  at  the  upper  end  of  the  table  the  chairman  struck  his  ham- 
mer violently,  and  commanded  silence. 

"  Silentium,  meinc  llerren  !"  he  thundered  out.  "I  have  a 
secret  to  communicate.  A  great  honor  has  been  done  one  of  our 
members,  and  even  his  overwhelming  modesty  permits  it  to  bo 
known  at  last.  Our  good  friend  Josef  llempcl  has  been  appoint- 
ed Ilof-maler  to  the  Grand-duke  of .     I  call  on  you  to  drink 

his  health  and  the  Grand-duke's  too !" 

Then  there  was  a  quick  filling  of  glasses;  a  general  uprising; 
cries  of  "Ilempel!  Ilempel !"  "The  Duke!"  followed  by  a  re- 
sounding chorus — 

"  Hoch  sollen  sie  leben  ! 
Iloch  sollen  sie  leben  ! 
Dreimal  lioch !" — 


A    QL'AKKEL.  327 

that  echoed  away  down  the  empty  ball.     Then  the  tumult  sub- 
sided ;  and  the  president,  rising,  said  gravely, 

"  I  now  call  on  our  good  friend  llempel  to  reply  to  the  toast, 
and  to  give  us  a  few  remarks  on  Ibc  coiiditi(Mi  of  art  in  the  Grand 
]  )ucliy  of ,  with  some  observations  and  rellections  on  tlie  al- 
tered position  of  the  Duchy  since  the  unification  of  our  Father- 
land." 

In  answer  to  this  summons  there  rose  to  his  feet  a  short,  stout 
old  gentleman,  with  a  remarkably  fresh  complexion,  silvery-white 
liair,  and  merry  blue  eyes  that  peered  through  gold-rimmed  spec- 
tacles, lie  was  all  smiles  and  blushes;  and  tiie  longer  they  cheer- 
ed the  more  did  he  smile  and  blusli. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said;  and  this  was  the  signal  for  further 
cheering;  "gentlemen,"  said  the  blushing  orator,  at  length,  "our 
friend  is  at  his  old  tricks.  I  cannot  make  a  speech  to  you — 
except  this :  I  ask  you  to  drink  a  glass  of  champagne  with  me. 
Kellner — Champagncr !" 

And  he  incontinently  dropped  into  his  seat  again,  having  for- 
gotten altogether  to  acknowledge  the  compliment  paid  to  himself 
and  the  Grand-duke. 

However,  this  was  like  the  letting  in  of  water;  for  no  sooner 
had  the  two  or  three  bottles  ordered  by  Ilcrr  llempel  been  ex- 
liausted  than  one  after  another  of  his  companions  seemed  to 
consider  it  was  their  turn  now,  and  loud-shouted  orders  were 
continually  being  administered  to  the  busy  waiter.  "Wine  flowed 
and  sparkled ;  cigars  were  freely  exchanged ;  the  volume  of  con- 
versation rose  in  tone,  for  all  were  speaking  at  once;  the  din  be- 
came fast  and  furious. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  Reitzei  alone  sat  apart  and  silent, 
"^ver  since  coming  into  the  room  the  attention  of  Beratinsky  had 
been  monopolized  by  his  neighbor,  who  had  just  come  back  from 
a  great  artistic /e/e  in  some  German  town,  and  who,  dressed  as 
the  Emperor  Barbarossa,  and  followed  by  his  knights,  had  ridden 
np  the  big  staircase  into  the  Town-liall.  The  festivities  had  last- 
ed for  a  fortnight;  the  Staatsweinkeller  had  furnished  liber.il 
supplies;  the  Princess  Adelheid  had  been  present  at  the  crowninu- 
ceremony.  Then  he  had  brought  with  him  sketches  of  the  vari- 
ous costumes,  and  so  forth.  Perhaps  it  was  inadvertently  that 
Beratinsky  so  grossly  neglected  his  guest. 

The  susceptible  vanity  of  Keitzei  had  been   deeplv  wounded 


328  SUNRISE. 

before  be  entered,  but  now  tbc  cup  of  bis  wratli  was  filled  to 
overflowing.  Tbc  more  cbampagne  be  drunk — and  tberc  was 
plenty  coining  and  going — tbc  more  sullen  lie  became.  For  tbe 
rest,  be  bad  forgotten  tbc  circumstance  tbat  be  bad  already  drunk 
two  glasses  of  brandy  before  bis  arrival,  and  tbat  be  bad  eaten 
iiotbing  since  mid-day. 

At  Icno'tb  Beratinskv  turned  to  bim. 

"  AVill  you  liave  a  cigar,  Reitzei  ?" 

Reitzei's  first  impulse  was  to  refuse  to  speak;  but  bis  wrongs 
forced  bim.     He  said,  coldly, 

"Xo,  tbanks;  I  bave  already  been  offered  a  cigar  by  tbe  gen- 
tleman next  me.  Pcrbaps  you  will  kindly  tell  me  bow  one,  being 
sober,  bad  any  need  to  pretend  to  be  sober  ?" 

Beratinsky  stared  at  bim. 

"  Ob,  you  are  tbinking  about  tbat  yet,  are  you  f  be  said,  indif- 
ferently ;  and  at  tbis  moment,  as  bis  neigbbor  called  bis  attention 
to  some  furtber  skctcbcs,  be  again  turned  away. 

But  now  tbc  souls  of  tbe  sons  of  tbe  Fatberland,  warmed  with 
wine,  began  to  tbink  of  borne  and  love  and  patriotism,  and  longed 
for  some  more  melodious  utterances  tban  tbis  continuous  guttu- 
ral clatter.  Silence  was  commanded.  A  bandsome  young  fellow, 
slim  and  dark,  clearly  a  Jew,  ascended  tbc  platform,  and  sat  down 
at  tbe  piano;  tbe  basbful  Ilempel,  still  blusbing  and  laugbing, 
was  induced  to  follow ;  togetber  tbey  sung,  amidst  comparative 
silence,  a  duet  of  Mcndelssobn's,  set  for  tenor  and  barytone,  and 
sung  it  very  well  indeed.  Tbcre  was  great  applause,  but  Ilempel 
insisted  on  retiring.  Left  to  bimsclf,  tbe  young  man  witb  the 
handsome  profile  and  tbe  finely-set  bead  played  a  few  bars  of 
prelude,  and  then,  in  a  remarkably  clear  and  resonant  voice,  sung 
Braga's  mystical  and  tender  serenade,  tbe  ''^ Legende  Valaque,'''' 
amidst  a  silence  now  quite  secured.  But  what  was  tbis  one  voice 
or  tbat  to  all  the  passion  of  music  demanding  utterance?  Soon 
there  was  a  call  to  tbe  young  gentleman  to  play  an  accompani- 
ment ;  and  a  huge  black-a-vised  Hessian,  still  sitting  at  the  table, 
held  up  bis  brimming  glass,  and  began,  in  a  voice  like  a  hundred 
kettle-drums, 

"Ifh  nehni'  iiieiii  Glasclicn  in  die  Hand:" 

then  came  tbe  universal  shout  of  tbc  chorus,  ringing  to  tlie  roof, 

"  Yive  la  Compagneia  !" 


A    QUARREL.  ?r20 

Again  tlie  raucous  voice  bawled  aloud, 

•'  Und  fain'  damit  in's  Unteiland  :" 

and  again  the  tlmndcr  of  the  chorus,  lliis  time  prolonged,  witii 
much  beating  of  time  on  the  table,  and  jangling  of  wine-glasses, 

"  Vive  la  Conipagncia ! 
Vive  la,  vivc  la,  vive  la,  va !  vivo  la,  vivc  la,  hopsasa  ! 
Vive  la  Compagncia !" 

And  so  on  to  the  end,  the  chorus  becoming  stormier  and  more 
thunderous  than  ever  •,  then,  when  peace  had  been  restored,  there 
was  a  general  rising,  though  here  and  there  a  final  glass  was  drunk 
with  "  stosst  an !  setzt  an  !  fertig !  los !"  and  its  attendant  cere- 
monies. The  meeting  had  broken  up  by  cotnniDn  consent;  there 
was  a  shutting  of  footsteps,  and  some  disjointed  talking  and  call- 
ing down  the  empty  hall,  where  the  lights  were  already  being  put 
out. 

Keitzei  liad  sat  silent  during  all  this  chorus -singing,  thouHi 
ordinarily,  being  an  excitable  person,  and  indeed  rather  proud  of 
his  voice,  he  was  ready  to  roar  with  any  one;  and  in  silence, 
too,  lie  walked  away  with  Eeratinsky,  who  either  was  or  ajipear- 
ed  to  be  quite  unconscious  of  his  companion's  state  of  mind.  At 
length  Reitzei  stopped  short — Oxford  Street  at  this  time  of  the 
morning  was  perfectly  silent — and  said, 

"  Deratinsky,  I  have  a  word  to  say  to  you." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  other,  though  he  seemed  surprised. 

"  I  may  tell  you  your  manners  are  none  of  the  best." 

Eeratinsky  looked  at  him. 

"Nor  your  temper,"  said  he,  "one  would  think.  Do  you  still 
go  back  to  what  1  said  about  your  piece  of  acting?  You  arc  a 
child,  Keitzei." 

"  I  do  not  care  about  that,"  said  Reitzei,  contemptuously,  though 
lie  was  not  speaking  the  truth :  his  self-satisfaction  had  been  griev- 
ously hurt.  "  You  put  too  great  a  value  on  your  opinion,  Eera- 
tinsky ;  it  is  not  everything  that  you  know  about:  we  will  let 
that  pass.  Eut  when  one  goes  into  a  society  as  a  guest,  one  ex- 
pects to  be  treated  as  a  guest.  No  matter;  I  was  among  my  own 
countrymen  ;  I  was  well  enough  entertained." 

"It  appears  so,"  said  Eeratinsky,  with  a  sjieer;  "I  should  say 
too  well.  My  dear  friend  lleitzei,  I  am  afraid  you  liave  been  liav- 
ing  a  little  too  much  champagne." 


330  SUNRISE. 

"  It  was  none  tliat  you  paid  for,  at  all  events,"  was  tbe  quick 
retort.  "No  matter;  I  was  among  my  own  countrymen;  they 
are  civil;  they  are  not  niggardly." 

"  They  can  afford  to  spend,"  said  the  other,  laughing  sardoni- 
cally, "out  of  the  plunder  they  take  from  others." 

"  They  have  fought  for  what  they  have,"  the  other  said,  hotly. 
"Your  countrymen  —  what  have  they  ever  done?  Have  they 
fought  ?     No  ;  they  have  conspired,  and  then  run  away." 

But  Beratinsky  was  much  too  cool-blooded  a  man  to  get  into 
a  quarrel  of  this  kind;  besides,  he  noticed  that  lleitzei's  speech 
was  occasionally  a  little  thick. 

"I  would  advise  you  to  go  home  and  get  to  bed,  friend 
Reitzei,"  said  he.  • 

"Not  until  I  have  said  something  to  you,  Mr.  Beratinsky," 
said  the  other,  with  mock  politeness.  "I  have  this  to  say,  that 
your  ways  of  late  have  been  a  little  too  uncivil ;  you  have  been 
just  rather  too  insolent,  my  good  friend.  Now  I  tell  you  frankly 
it  does  not  do  for  one  in  your  position  to  be  uncivil  and  to  make 
enemies." 

"For  one  in  my  position!"  Beratinsky  repeated,  in  a  tone  of 
raillery. 

"  You  tliink  it  is  a  joke,  then,  what  happened  to-night?" 

"  Oh,  that  is  what  you  mean  ;  but  if  that  is  my  position,  what 
other  is  yours,  friend  Reitzei  ?" 

"  You  pretend  not  to  know.  T  will  tell  you :  that  was  got  up 
between  you  and  Lind ;  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"IIo!  Ito!" 

"You  may  laugh;  but  take  care  you  do  not  laugh  the  other 
way,"  said  the  younger  man,  who  had  worked  himself  into  a  fury, 
and  was  all  the  madder  on  account  of  the  cynical  indifference  of 
his  antagonist.  "  I  tell  you  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it ;  it  was 
your  scheme  and  Lind's ;  I  did  as  I  was  bid.  I  tell  you  I  could 
make  this  very  plain  if — " 

lie  hesitated. 

"  Well — if  what?"  Beratinsky  said,  calmly. 

"  You  know  very  well.  I  say  you  arc  not  in  a  position  to 
insult  people  and  make  enemies.  You  are  a  very  clever  man  in 
your  own  estimation,  my  friend  Beratinsky ;  but  I  would  give 
you  the  advice  to  be  a  little  more  civil." 

Beratinsk}'  regarded  him  for  a  second  in  silence. 


A    QUARREL,  331 

"I  scarcely  know  \vlictlior  it  is  worth  wliilc  to  point  out  cer- 
tain tliint^s  to  you,  friend  llcitzei,  ur  whcthe'r  to  leave  you  to  go 
home  and  sleep  olf  your  anijer." 

"  My  anger,  as  you  call  it,  is  not  a  thing  of  the  moment.  Oh, 
I  assure  you  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  champagne  I  have 
just  drunk,  and  which  was  not  paid  for  by  you,  thank  God! 
No;  my  anger — my  wish  to  have  you  alter  your  manner  a  little 
— has  been  growing  for  some  time ;  but  it  is  of  late,  my  dear 
Beratinsky,  that  you  have  become  more  unbearable  than  ever." 

"Don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself,  Reitzei  •,  I  at  least  am  not 
going  to  stand  in  the  streets  talking  nonsense  at  two  in  the 
morning.     Good-night!" 

He  stepped  from  the  pavement  on  to  the  street,  to  cross. 

"  Stop !"  said  llcitzei,  seizing  his  arm  with  both  hands. 

Beratinsky  shook  him  off  violently,  and  turned.  There  might 
liave  been  a  blow  ;  but  llcitzei,  who  was  a  coward,  shrunk  back. 

Beratinsky  advanced. 

"Look  here,  llcitzei,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  [  think  yon 
arc  sober  enoutrh  to  understand  this.  You  were  throwintj  out 
vague  threats  about  what  you  might  do  or  might  not  do;  that 
means  that  you  think  you  could  go  and  tell  something  about  the 
proceedings  of  to-night :  you  are  a  fool!" 

"  Very  well — very  well." 

"Perhaps  you  do  not  remember,  for  example.  Clause  I.,  the 
very  first  clause  in  the  Obligations  binding  on  Officers  of  the 
Second  Degree;  you  do  not  remember  tliat,  perhaps?"  He 
was  now  talking  in  a  quietly  contemptuous  way ;  the  little 
spasm  of  anger  tliat  had  disturbed  him  when  Reitzei  put  his 
hands  on  his  arm  had  immediately  passed  away.  "The  punish- 
ment for  any  one  revealing,  for  any  reason  or  purpose  whatever, 
what  has  been  done,  or  is  about  to  be  done  by  orders  of  the 
Council,  or  by  any  one  acting  under  these  orders — you  remem- 
ber the  rest,  my  friend  ? — the  punishment  is  death  !  My  good 
llcitzei,  do  not  deprive  me  of  the  pleasure  of  your  compan- 
ionship ;  and  do  not  imagine  that  you  can  force  people  to  be 
polite  to  you  by  threats;  that  is  not  the  way  at  all.  Go  home 
and  sleep  away  your  anger ;  and  do  not  imagine  that  you  have 
any  advantage  in  your  position,  or  that  you  are  less  responsible 
for  what  has  been  done  than  any  one." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  about  that,"  said  Reitzei,  sullenly. 


332  SUNRISE. 

"  In  tlic  morning  you  -will  be  sure,"  said  tlie  other,  compas- 
sionately, as  if  lie  Avere  talking  to  a  cliild. 

He  Leld  out  Lis  hand. 

"  Come,  friend  Reitzei,"  said  he,  with  a  sort  of  pitying  kind- 
ness, "vou  will  find  in  the  niornino;  it  will  be  all  riu'ht.  What 
liappened  to-night  was  well  arranged,  and  well  executed ;  every- 
body must  be  satisfied.  And  if  you  were  a  little  too  exuberant 
in  your  protestations,  a  little  too  anxious  to  accept  the  work 
yourself,  and  rather  too  demonstrative  with  your  tremblino's  and 
your  professions  of  courage  and  your  clutching  at  the  bottle : 
what  then?  P^very  one  is  not  a  born  actor.  Every  one  must 
mate  a  mistake  sometimes.     But  you  won't  take  my  hand  ?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Beratinsky,"  said  the  other,  with  profound  sarcasm, 
"  how  could  you  expect  it  ?  Take  the  hand  of  one  so  wise  as 
you,  so  great  as  you,  such  a  logician  as  you  are?  It  would  be 
too  much  honor;  but  if  you  will  allow  me  I  vvill  bid  you  good- 
night." 

He  turned  abruptly  and  loft.  Beratinsky  stood  for  a  moment 
or  so  looking  after  him ;  then  he  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter  that 
sounded  along  the  empty  street.  Ileitzei  heard  the  laughing  be- 
hind him. 


CUAPTEil  XLIV. 

A     TWICE-TOLD     TALE. 


When  the  door  had  closed  on  George  Brand,  Natalie  stood 
for  a  second  or  two  uncertain,  to  collect  her  bewildered  thouo'hts. 
She  heard  his  footsteps  growing  fainter  and  fainter;  the  world 
seemed  to  sway  around  her;  life  itself  to  be  slipping  away.  Then 
suddenly  she  turned,  and  seized  her  mother  by  both  her  hands. 

"Child,  child,  what  is  the  matter?"  the  mother  cried,  terrified 
by  the  piteous  eyes  and  white  lips. 

"Ah,  you  could  not  have  guessed,"  the  girl  said,  wildly,  "you 
could  not  have  guessed  from  his  manner  what  he  has  told  me, 
could  you  ?  lie  is  not  one  to  say  much  ;  he  is  not  one  to  com- 
plain. But  he  is  about  to  lose  his  life,  raotlier — to  lose  his  life! 
and  it  is  I  vdio  have  led  him  to  this;  it  is  I  who  have  killed 
him  1" 


A    TWICE-TOLU    TALE.  333 

"Natalie,"  tlic  mother  cxclaiincd,  turnini^  rather  pale,  "  voii 
don't  Icnow  wliat  you  arc  sayinij." 

"But  it  is  true;  do  not  you  understand,  mutlier  f  the  uiil 
said,  despairingly.  "The  Soeiety  lias  given  him  some  duty  to 
do  —  now,  at  once — and  it  will  cost  him  his  life.  Oh,  do  you 
think  he  complains? — no,  ho  is  not  one  to  complain.  Ife  says 
it  is  nothing;  he  has  pledged  himself;  he  will  obey;  and  what 
is  the  value  of  his  one  single  life?  That  is  the  way  he  talks, 
mother.  And  the  parting  between  him  and  me — that  is  so  near, 
so  near  now — what  is  that,  when  there  are  thousands  and  thou- 
sands of  such  every  time  that  war  is  declared  ?  I  am  to  make 
light  of  it,  mother;  I  am  to  think  it  is  nothing  at  all — that  he 
should  be  going  away  to  die!" 

She  liad  been  talking  quite  wildly,  almost  incoherently;  she 
had  not  observed  that  her  mother  had  grown  paler  than  ever ; 
nor  had  she  lieard  the  half-murmured  exclamation  of  the  elder 
woman, 

"No,  no — not  the  story  twice  told;  he  could  not  do  that!" 

Then,  with  an  unusual  firmness  and  decision,  she  led  her  dauo-h- 
tcr  to  the  easy-chair,  and  made  her  sit  down. 

"  Natalie,"  she  said,  in  earnest  and  grave  tones,  without  any 
excitement  wliatever,  "you  have  told  me  your  father  Avas  very 
much  against  your  marrying  Mr.  Brand." 

There  was  no  answer.  The  girl  sitting  there  could  only  think 
of  that  terrible  thing  facing  her  in  the  immediate  future. 

"Natalie,"  said  her  mother,  firmly,  "  I  wish  you  to  listen. 
You  said  your  father  was  opposed  to  your  inarriage  —  that  he 
would  not  hear  of  it;  and  you  remember  telling  me  how  Mr. 
Brand  had  refused  to  hand  over  his  property  to  the  Society  ; 
and  you  talked  of  going  to  America  if  Mr.  Brand  were  sent? 
Natalie,  this  is  your  father's  doing !" 

She  looked  up  quickly,  not  understanding.  The  elder  woman 
flushed  slightly,  but  continued  in  clear  and  even  tones. 

"  Perhaps  I  am  wrong,  Natalushka  ;  perhaps  I  should  not  teach 
you  to  suspect  your  father.  But  that  is  how  I  see  it — this  is 
what  I  believe — that  Mr.  Brand,  if  what  you  say  is  true,  is  to  be 
sacrificed,  not  in  the  interests  of  the  Societ}-,  but  because  your 
father  is  determined  to  get  him  out  of  the  wav." 

"Oh,  mother,  it  is  impossible!  IIow  could  anv  one  be  so 
cruel ?" 


334  SUNRISE. 

"It  would  be  strange  if  the  story  were  to  be  twice  told,"  the 
mother  said,  absently.  Then  she  took  a  stool  beside  her  daugh- 
ter, and  sat  down  beside  her,  and  took  one  of  her  hands  in  both 
hers.     It  was  a  reversal  of  their  ordinary  positions. 

"Listen,  Natalie;  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  story,"  she  said, 
with  a  curious  resignation  and  sadness  in  her  voice.  "I  had 
thought  it  might  be  unnecessary  to  tell  it  to  you  ;  when  Mr.  Brand 
spoke  of  it,  I  said  no.  But  you  will  judge  for  yourself,  and  it 
will  distract  your  mind  for  a  little.  You  must  think  of  a  young 
girl  something  like  yourself,  Xatalushka;  not  so  handsome  as 
you  are,  but  a  little  pretty,  and  ■with  many  friends.  Oh  yes, 
many  friends,  for  at  that  time  the  family  Avere  in  very  brilliant 
society  and  had  large  estates:  alas  I  the  estates  were  soon  all  lost 
in  politics,  and  all  that  remained  to  the  family  Avas  their  name 
and  some  tales  of  what  they  liad  done.  Well,  this  young  lady, 
among  all  her  friends,  had  one  or  two  sweethearts,  as  was  natural 
— for  there  were  a  great  coming  and  going  then,  before  the  trou- 
bles broke  out,  and  many  visitors  at  the  house  —  only  every  one 
thought  she  ought  to  marry  her  cousin  Konrad,  for  they  had 
been  brought  up  together,  and  this  cousin  Konrad  was  a  good- 
looking  young  man,  and  amiable,  and  her  parents  would  have 
approved.  Are  you  sure  you  arc  listening  to  my  story,  Nata- 
lushka?" 

"Oh  yes,  mother,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice;  "I  tliink  I  under- 
stand." 

"  Well,"  continued  the  mother,  with  rather  a  sad  smile,  "you 
know  that  a  girl  does  not  always  choose  the  one  whom  lier  friends 
choose  for  her.  Among  the  two  or  three  sweethearts — that  is, 
those  who  Avishcd  to  be  sweethearts,  do  you  understand,  Nata- 
lushka? — there  was  one  who  was  more  audacious,  perhaps,  more 
persistent  than  the  others ;  and  then  he  was  a  man  of  great  am- 
bition, and  of  strong  political  views;  and  the  young  lady  I  was 
telling  you  about,  Natalushka,  had  been  brought  up  in  a  political 
atmosphere,  and  had  opinions  also.  She  believed  this  man  was 
capable  of  doing  great  things ;  and  her  friends  not  objecting,  she, 
after  a  few  years  of  waiting,  owing  to  the  troubles  of  political 
matters,  married  him." 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two. 

"Yes,  they  were  married,"  she  continued,  with  a  sigh,  "and 
fur  a  time  everything  was  happy,  though  the  political  affairs  were 


A    TWICE-TOLD    TALK.  .'i35 

60  untoward,  and  cost  much  suffering  and  danger.  The  young 
uifc  only  admired  her  liusband's  determined  will,  liis  anchicity, 
liis  ambition  after  leadership  and  power.  But  in  the  mid.st  of 
all  tliis,  as  time  went  on,  he  began  to  grow  jealous  of  the  cousin 
Konrad ;  and  Konrad,  though  he  was  a  light-lieartcd  young  fel- 
low, and  meaning  no  harm  wliatcvcr,  resented  being  forbidden 
to  see  his  cousin.  lie  refused  to  cease  visiting  the  house,  though 
the  young  wife  begged  him  to  do  so.  lie  was  very  proud  and 
self-willed,  you  must  know,  Natalushka.  AVcll,  tlic  husband  did 
not  say  much,  but  he  was  morose,  and  once  or  twice  he  said  to 
his  wife, '  It  is  not  your  fault  that  your  cousin  is  impertinent ; 
but  let  him  take  care.'  Then  one  day  an  old  friend  of  the  wife's 
father  came  to  her,  and  said,  '  l>o  you  know  what  has  happened? 
You  arc  not  likely  to  see  your  cousin  Konrad  again.     The  Kus- 

sian  General ,  whom  wc  bribed  with  twenty-four  thousand 

rubles  to  give  us  ten  passports  for  crossing  the  frontier,  now  re- 
fuses to  give  them,  and  Konrad  has  been  sent  to  kill  him,  as  a 
warning  to  the  others ;  lie  will  be  taken,  and  hanged.'  I  forgot 
to  tell  you,  Natalushka,  that  the  girl  I  am  speaking  of  was  in  all 
the  secrets  of  tlie  association  which  had  been  started.  You  are 
more  fortunate ;  you  know  nothing." 

The  interest  of  the  listener  had  now  been  thoroughly  aroused. 
She  had  turned  toward  her  mother,  and  had  put  her  remaining 
hand  over  hers. 

"Well,  this  friend  hinted  something  more;  he  hinted  that  it 
was  the  husband  of  this  young  wife  who  had  sent  Konrad  on  this 
mission,  and  that  the  means  employed  had  not  been  quite  fair." 

"Mother,  what  do  you  mean  f '  Natalie  said,  breathlessly. 

"I  am  telling  you  a  story  that  really  happened,  Natalushka," 
said  the  mother,  calmly,  and  with  the  same  pathetic  touch  in  her 
voice.  "Then  the  young  wife,  without  consideration — so  anxious 
was  she  to  save  the  life  of  her  cousin — went  straight  to  the  high- 
est authorities  of  the  association,  and  appealed  to  them.  The  in- 
fluence of  her  family  aided  her.  She  wxs  listened  to ;  there  was 
an  examination  ;  what  the  friend  had  hinted  was  found  to  be 
true;  the  commission  was  annulled;  Konrad  was  given  his  lib- 
erty !" 

"Yes,  yes  !"  said  Natalie,  eagerly. 

"But  listen,  Natalushka;  I  said  I  would  tell  you  the  whole 
story  ;  it  has  been  kept  from  you  for  many  a  year.    "When  it  was 


33G  SUNRISE. 

found  tliat  the  husband  liad  made  nse  of  the  machinery  of  the  as- 
sociation for  his  own  ends — Avhich,  it  appears,  was  a  great  crime 
in  their  eyes — he  was  degraded,  and  forbidden  all  hope  of  join- 
ing the  Council,  the  ruling  body.  lie  was  in  a  terrible  rage,  for 
he  was  mad  with  ambition.  Ue  drove  the  wife  from  his  house — 
ratlier,  lie  left  the  house  himself — and  he  took  away  Avith  him 
their  only  child,  a  little  girl  scarcely  two  years  old  ;  and  he  threat- 
ened the  mother  with  the  most  terrible  penalties  if  ever  again  she 
should  speak  to  her  own  child !  Natalushka,  do  you  understand 
me?  Do  you  wonder  that  my  face  is  w'orn  -with  grief?  For  six- 
teen years  that  mother,  who  loved  her  daughter  better  than  any- 
thing in  the  world,  was  not  permitted  to  speak  to  her,  could  only 
regard  her  from  a  distance,  and  not  tell  her  how  she  loved  her." 

The  girl  uttered  a  cry  of  compassion,  and  wound  her  arms 
round  her  mother's  neck. 

"Oh,  the  cruelty  of  it ! — the  cruelty  of  it,  mother!  But  why 
did  you  not  come  to  me  ?  Do  you  think  I  would  not  have  left 
everything  to  go  with  you — you,  alone  and  suffering  V 

For  a  time  the  mother  could  not  answer,  so  deep  were  her 
sobs. 

"Natalushka,"  she  said  at  length,  in  a  broken  voice,  "no  fear 
of  any  danger  threatening  myself  would  have  kept  me  from  you ; 
be  sure  of  that.  But  there  was  something  else.  My  father  had 
become  compromised — the  Austrians  said  it  was  assassination  ;  it 
was  not !"  For  a  second  some  hot  blood  mounted  to  her  cheeks. 
"  I  say  it  was  a  fair  duel,  and  your  grandfather  himself  w'as  near- 
ly killed;  but  he  escaped,  and  got  into  liiding  among  some  faith- 
ful friends — poor  people,  who  had  known  our  family  in  better 
times.  The  Government  did  what  they  could  to  arrest  him ;  he 
was  expressly  exempted  from  the  amnest}',  this  old  man,  who  was 
wounded,  who  was  incapable  of  movement  almost,  whom  every 
one  expected  to  die  from  day  to  day,  and  a  word  would  have 
betrayed  him  and  destroyed  him.  Can  you  wonder,  Xatalushka, 
with  that  threat  hanging  over  me — that  menace  that  the  moment 
I  spoke  to  you  meant  that  my  father  would  be  delivered  to  his 
enemies — that  I  said  'No,  not  yet  will  I  speak  to  my  little  daugh- 
ter; I  cannot  sacrifice  my  father's  life  even  to  the  affection  of  a 
mother!  But  soon,  when  I  have  given  him  such  care  and  solace 
as  he  has  the  right  to  demand  from  me,  then  I  will  set  out  to  see 
my  beautiful  child  —  not  with  baskets  of  flowers,  haunting  the 


A    TWICE-TOLD    TALE.  337 

door-steps — not  witli  a  little  trinket,  to  drop  in  her  lap,  and  per- 
haps set  her  mind  thinking — no,  but  with  open  arms  and  open 
heart,  to  see  if  she  is  not  afraid  to  call  me  mother.' " 

"Poor  mother,  how  you  must  have  suffered,"  the  girl  mur- 
mured, holding  her  close  to  her  bosom.  "  But  with  your  power- 
ful friends — those  to  whom  you  appealed  before — why  did  you 
not  go  to  them,  and  get  safety  from  the  terrible  threat  hanging 
over  you?  Could  not  they  protect  him,  my  grandfather,  as  they 
saved  your  cousin  Konrad  ?" 

"Alas,  child,  your  grandfather  never  belonged  to  the  associa- 
tion !  Of  what  use  was  he  to  them — a  sufferer  expecting  each  day 
to  be  his  last,  and  not  daring  to  move  beyond  the  door  of  the 
peasant's  cottage  that  sheltered  him  ?  Many  a  time  he  used  to 
say  to  me, '  Natalie,  go  to  your  child.  I  am  already  dead  ;  what 
matters  it  whether  they  take  me  or  not?  You  have  watched  the 
old  tree  fade  leaf  by  leaf ;  it  is  only  the  stump  that  cumbers  the 
ground.  Go  to  your  child;  if  they  try  to  drag  me  from  here, 
the  first  mile  will  be  the  end ;  and  what  better  can  one  wish  for?' 
But  no ;  I  could  not  do  that." 

Natalie  had  been  thinking  deeply ;  she  raised  her  head,  and 
regarded  her  mother  with  a  calm,  strange  look. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  slowly,  "  I  do  not  think  I  will  ever  enter 
my  father's  house  again." 

The  elder  woman  heard  this  declaration  without  either  surprise 
or  joy.     She  said,  simply, 

"  Do  not  judge  rashly  or  harshly,  Natalushka.  ^Vhy  have  I 
refrained  until  now  from  telling  you  the  story  but  that  I  thought 
it  better — I  thought  you  would  be  happier  if  you  continued  to 
respect  and  love  your  father.  Then  consider  what  excuses  may 
be  made  for  him — " 

"  None  !"  the  girl  said,  vehemently.  "  To  keep  you  suffering 
for  sixteen  years  away  from  your  only  child,  and  with  the  knowl- 
edge that  at  any  moment  a  word  on  his  part  might  lead  out  your 
father  to  a  cruel  death — oli,  mother,  mother,  you  may  ask  me  to 
forgive,  but  not  to  excuse  !" 

"Ambition — the  desire  for  influence  and  leadership — is  his 
very  life,"  the  mother  said,  calmly.  "  He  cares  more  for  that 
than  anything  in  the  world  —  wife,  child,  anything,  he  would 
sacrifice  to  it.  But  now,  child,"  she  said,  with  a  concerned  look, 
"  can  you  understand  whv  I  have  told  von  the  storv  ?" 

15 


338  SUNRISE. 

Natalie  looked  up  bewildered.  For  a  time  the  interest  of  this 
stor\',  intense  as  it  had  been  to  her,  had  distracted  her  mind  from 
her  own  troubles ;  thoiigh  all  through  slie  had  been  conscious  of 
some  impending  gloom  that  seemed  to  darken  the  life  around  her. 

"  It  was  not  merely  to  tell  you  of  my  sufferings,  Natalushka," 
the  mother  said  at  once,  gently  and  anxiously ;  "  they  are  over. 
I  am  happy  to  be  beside  you  ;  if  you  are  happy.  But  when  a 
little  time  ago  you  told  me  of  Mr.  Brand  being  ordered  away  to 
this  duty,  and  of  the  fate  likely  to  befall  him,  I  said  to  myself, 
'  Ah,  no ;  surely  it  cannot  be  the  story  told  twice  over.  He 
would  not  dare  to  do  that  again.'  " 

The  girl  turned  deadly  pale. 

"  My  child,  that  is  why  I  asked  you.  Mr.  Brand  disappointed 
your  father,  I  can  see,  about  the  money  affair.  Then,  when  he 
might  have  been  got  out  of  the  way  by  being  sent  to  America, 
you  make  matters  worse  than  ever  by  threatening  to  go  with  him." 

The  girl  did  not  speak,  but  her  eyes  were  terrified. 

"  Natalie,"  the  mother  said,  gently,  "  have  1  done  wrong  to  put 
these  suspicions  into  your  mind  ?  Have  I  done  wrong  to  put 
you  into  antagonism  with  your  fatlier?  My  child,  I  cannot  see 
you  suffer  without  revealing  to  you  what  I  imagine  may  be  the 
cause — even  if  it  is  impossible  to  fight  against  it — even  if  one 
can  only  shudder  at  the  cruelty  of  which  some  are  capable :  we 
can  pray  God  to  give  us  resignation." 

Natalie  Lind  was  not  listening  at  all ;  her  face  was  white,  her 
lips  firm,  her  eyes  fixed. 

"  Mother,"  she  said  at  length,  in  a  low  voice,  and  speaking  as 
if  she  were  weighing  each  word,  "  if  you  think  the  story  is  being 
told  again,  why  should  it  not  be  carried  out?  You  appealed,  to 
save  the  life  of  one  who  loved  you.  And  I — why  may  not  I 
also  r 

"  Oh,  child,  child!"  the  mother  cried  in  terror,  laying  hold  of 
her  arm.  "  Do  not  think  of  it :  anything  but  that !  You  do 
not  know  how  terrible  your  father  is  when  his  anger  is  aroused : 
look  at  what  I  have  suffered.  Natalushka,  I  will  not  have  you  lead 
the  life  that  I  have  led;  you  must  not,  you  dare  not,  interfere !" 

The  girl  put  her  hand  aside,  and  sprung  to  her  feet.  No  lon- 
ger was  she  white  of  face.  The  blood  of  the  Berezolyis  was  in 
her  cheeks;  her  eyes  were  dilated;  her  voice  was  proud  and  in- 
dignant. 


A    TWICE-TULD    TALE.  339 

*'  And  I,"  she  said,  *'  if  this  is  true — if  this  is  possible — oh, 
do  you  tliink  I  am  u"oin<>;  to  see  a  brave  man  sent  to  his  death, 
shamelessly,  cruelly,  and  not  do  what  I  can  to  save  him  ]  It  is 
not  for  you,  mother,  it  is  not  for  one  who  bears  the  name  that 
you  bear  to  tell  me  to  be  afraid.  What  have  I  to  fear?  What 
I  did  fear  was  to  live,  with  him  dead.     Xow — " 

Tiic  mother  had  risen  quickly  to  her  feet  also,  and  sought  to 
hold  her  daughter's  hands. 

"For  the  sake  of  Heaven,  Natalushka!"  she  pleaded.  "You 
are  ruiuiiiii>;  into  a  terrible  danger — " 

"  Do  I  care,  mother  ?  Do  I  look  as  if  I  cared  ?"  she  said, 
proudly. 

"And  for  no  purpose,  Natalushka ;  you  will  only  bring  down 
on  yourself  the  fury  of  your  father,  and  he  will  make  your  life 
as  miserable  as  he  has  made  mine.  And  what  can  you  do,  child  ? 
what  can  you  do  but  bring  ruin  on  yourself?  You  are  power- 
less ;  you  have  no  influence  with  those  in  authority,  as  I  at  one 
time  had.     You  do  not  know  them  :  how  can  you  reach  them  V 

"  You  forget,  mother,"  the  girl  said,  triumphantly ;  "  was  it 
not  you  yourself  who  asked  me  if  I  had  ever  heard  of  one  Bar- 
tolotti  ?" 

The  mother  uttered  a  slight  cry  of  alarm. 

"  No,  no,  Natalushka,  I  beg  of  you — " 

The  girl  took  her  mother  in  her  arms  and  kissed  her.  There 
was  a  strange  joy  in  her  face  ;  the  eyes  were  no  longer  haggard, 
but  full  of  light  and  hope. 

"  You  dear  mother,"  she  said,  as  she  gently  compelled  her  to 
be  seated  again,  "that  is  the  place  for  you.  You  will  remain 
here,  quiet,  undisturbed  by  any  fears;  no  one  shall  molest  you; 
and  when  you  have  quite  recovered  from  all  your  suflferings,  and 
when  your  courage  has  returned  to  you,  then  I  will  come  back 
and  tell  you  my  story.     It  is  story  for  story,  is  it  not  ?" 

She  rung  the  bell. 

"Pardon  me,  dear  mother;  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost.  For 
once  I  return  to  my  father's  house — yes,  there  is  a  card  there  that 
I  must  have — " 

"But  afterward,  child,  where  do  you  go?"  the  mother  said, 
though  she  could  scarcely  find  utterance. 

"  Why,  to  Naples,  mother ;  I  am  an  experienced  traveller;  I 
shall  need  no  courier." 


340  SUNRISE. 

The  blood  had  mounted  into  both  cheek  and  forehead ;  her 
eyes  wore  full  of  life  and  pride ;  even  at  such  a  moment  the  anx- 
ious, frightened  mother  was  forced  to  think  she  had  never  seen 
her  daughter  look  so  beautiful. 

The  door  opened, 

"Madame,  be  so  good  as  to  tell  Anneli  that  I  am  ready." 

She  turned  to  her  mother. 

"  Now,  mother,  it  is  good-bye  for  I  do  not  know  how  long." 

"  Oh  no,  it  is  not,  child,"  said  the  other,  trembling,  and  yet 
smiling  in  spite  of  all  her  fears.  "  If  you  are  going  to  travel,  you 
must  have  a  courier.     I  will  be  your  courier,  Natalushka." 

"You  will  come  with  me,  mother?"  she  cried,  with  a  happy 
light  leaping  to  her  eyes.  "  Come,  then — we  will  give  courage 
to  each  other,  you  and  I,  shall  we  not  ?  Ah,  dear  mother,  you 
have  told  me  your  story  only  in  time ;  but  we  will  go  quickly 
now — you  and  I  together !" 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

SOUTHWARD. 

After  so  much  violent  emotion  the  rapid  and  eager  prepara- 
tions for  travel  proved  a  useful  distraction.  There  was  no  time 
to  lose ;  and  Natalie  very  speedily  found  that  it  was  she  herself 
who  must  undertake  the  duties  of  courier,  her  mother  being  far 
too  anxious  and  alarmed.  Once  or  twice,  indeed,  the  girl,  regard- 
ing the  worn,  sad  face,  almost  repented  of  having  accepted  that 
impulsive  offer,  and  would  have  proposed  to  start  alone.  But  she 
knew  that,  left  in  solitude,  the  poor  distressed  mother  would  only 
torture  herself  with  imaginary  fears.  As  for  herself,  she  had  no 
fear ;  her  heart  was  too  full  to  have  any  room  for  fear.  And  yet 
her  hand  trembled  a  little  as  she  sat  down  to  write  these  two 
messages  of  farewell.     The  first  ran  thus : 

"My  Father,  —  To-day,  for  the  first  time,  I  have  heard  my 
mother's  story  from  herself.  I  have  looked  into  her  eyes ;  I 
know  she  speaks  the  truth.  You  will  not  wonder  then  that  I 
leave  your  house — that  I  go  with  her;  there  must  be  some  one  to 
try  to  console  her  for  all  she  has  suffered,  and  I  am  her  daugh- 


SOUTHWAKD.  341 

tcr.     1  thank  you  for  many  years  of  kindness,  and  pray  God  to 
bless  you.  Natalie." 

The  next  was  easier  to  write. 

"Dearest, — My  mother  and  1  leave  England  to-night.  Do 
not  ask  why  we  go,  or  wliy  I  have  not  sent  for  you  to  come  and 
say  good-bye.  We  shall  be  away  perhaps  only  a  few  days ;  in 
any  case  you  must  not  go  until  we  return.  Do  not  forget  that  I 
must  see  you  again.  Natalie." 

She  felt  happier  when  she  had  written  these  two  notes.  She 
rose  from  the  table  and  went  over  to  her  mother. 

"  Now,  mother,  tell  me  bow  much  money  you  have,"  she  said, 
with  a  higlily  practical  air.  "  What,  have  I  startled  you,  poor 
little  mother?  I  believe  your  head  is  full  of  all  kinds  of  strantrc 
forebodings ;  and  yet  they  used  to  say  that  the  Berezolyis  were 
all  of  them  very  courageous." 

"  Natalushka,  you  do  not  know  what  danger  you  are  rushing 
into,"  the  mother  said,  absently. 

"I  again  ask  you,  mother,  a  simple  question:  how  much  money 
have  you?" 

"  I  ?  I  have  thirty  pounds  or  thereabout,  Natalie  ;  that  is  my 
capital,  as  it  were ;  but  next  month  ray  cousins  will  send  me — " 

"Never  mind  about  next  month,  mother  dear.  You  must  let 
me  rob  you  of  all  your  thirty  pounds;  and,  just  to  make  sure,  I 
will  go  and  borrow  ten  pounds  more  from  Madame  Potccki.  Ma- 
dame is  not  so  very  poor;  she  has  savings;  she  would  give  me 
every  farthing  if  I  asked  her.  And  do  you  think,  little  mother, 
if  we  come  back  successful — do  you  think  there  will  be  a  great 
difHculty  about  paying  back  the  loan  to  Madame  Potccki  ?" 

She  was  quite  gay,  to  give  her  mother  courage ;  and  she  re- 
fused to  leave  her  alone,  a  prey  to  these  gloomy  forebodings. 
She  carried  her  off  with  her  in  a  cab  to  Curzon  Street,  and  left 
her  in  the  cab  while  she  entered  the  house  with  Anneli.  Anneli 
cried  a  little  when  she  was  receiving  her  mistress's  last  instruc- 
tions. 

"Am  I  never  to  see  you  again,  Fraulein?"  she  sobbed.  "Are 
you  never  coming  back  to  the  house  any  more  ?" 

"  Of  course  you  will  see  me  again,  you  foolish  girl,  even  if  I  do 


342  SUNRISE. 

not  come  bact  Lore.  Now  you  will  be  careful,  Anneli,  to  have 
the  wine  a  little  warmed  before  dinner,  and  see  that  vour  master's 
slippers  are  in  the  study  by  the  fire ;  and  the  coffee — you  must 
make  the  coffee  yourself,  Anneli — " 

"Oh  yes,  indeed,  Fraulein,  I  will  make  the  coffee,"  said  Anneli, 
with  a  fresh  flowing  of  tears.  "  But — but  may  not  I  go  with 
you,  Friiulein  ? — if  you  are  not  coming  back  here  any  more,  why 
may  I  not  go  with  you  ?  I  am  not  anxious  for  wages,  Fraulein — 
I  do  not  want  any  wages  at  all ;  but  if  you  will  take  me  with 
you-" 

"Xow,  do  not  be  foolish,  Anneli.  Have  you  not  a  whole  house 
to  look  after  ?  There,  take  these  keys ;  you  will  have  to  show 
that  you  can  be  a  good  house-mistress,  and  sensible,  and  not 
childish." 

At  the  door  she  shook  hands  with  the  sobbing  maid,  and  bade 
her  a  cheerful  good-bye.  Then  she  got  into  the  cab  and  drove 
away  to  Madame  Potecki's  lodgings.  Finally,  by  dexterous  man- 
agement, she  succeeded  in  getting  her  mother  and  herself  to 
Charing  Cross  Station  in  time  to  catch  the  afternoon  express  to 
Dover. 

It  is  probable  that,  now  the  first  excitement  of  setting  out  was 
over,  and  the  two  women-folk  left  to  themselves  in  the  solitude 
of  a  compartment,  Natalie  might  have  begun  to  reflect  with  some 
tremor  of  the  heart  on  the  very  vagueness  of  the  task  she  had 
undertaken.  But  she  was  not  permitted  to  do  so.  The  neces- 
sity of  driving  away  her  mother's  forebodings  prevented  her  in- 
fliilging  in  any  of  her  own.  She  was  forced  to  be  careless,  cheer- 
ful, matter-of-fact. 

"  Natal ushka,"  the  mother  said,  holding  her  daughter's  hand, 
"you  have  been  brought  up  in  ignorance.  You  know  only  the 
romantic,  the  beautiful  side  of  what  is  going  on  ;  you  do  not 
know  what  these  men  are  ready  to  do — what  has  been  done — to 
secure  the  success  of  their  schemes.  And  for  you,  a  girl,  to  in- 
terfere, it  is  madness,  Natalushka.  They  will  langh  at  you,  per- 
haps ;  perhaps  it  may  be  worse ;  they  may  resent  your  interfer- 
ence, and  ask  who  has  betrayed  their  secrets." 

"  Are  they  so  very  terrible,  then  ?"  said  the  girl,  with  a  smile, 
"  when  Lord  Evelyn — ah,  you  do  not  know  him  yet,  mother;  but 
he  is  as  gentle  as  a  woman — when  he  is  their  friend  ;  and  when 
Mr.  Brand  is  full  of  admiration  fur  what  thev  arc  doinoj ;  and 


SOUTHWARD.  r543 

when  Culabrcssa —  Now,  mother,  is  Cahibressa  Hkely  to  harm 
any  one?  And  it  was  Cahibressa  himself  who  said  to  nie,  'Lit- 
tle daughter,  if  ever  you  are  in  great  trouble,  go  to  Naples.  You 
will  find  friends  there.'  No,  mother,  it  is  no  use  your  trying  to 
frighten  me.  No  ;  let  us  talk  about  something  sensible  ;  for  ex- 
ample, which  way  is  the  wind  i" 

"  How  can  I  tell,  Natalushka?" 

The  girl  laughed  —  rather  a  forced  laugh,  perhaps ;  she  could 
not  altogether  shake  off  the  consciousness  of  the  peril  that  sur- 
rounded her  lover. 

"  Why,  mother,  you  arc  a  pretty  courier!  You  are  about  to 
cross  the  Channel,  and  you  do  not  know  which  way  the  wind  is, 
or  whether  the  sea  is  rough,  or  anything.  Now  I  will  tell  you ; 
it  is  I  who  am  the  courier.  The  wind  is  north-east;  the  sea  was 
quite  smooth  yesterday  evening;  I  think  we  shall  have  a  com- 
fortable passngc.  And  do  you  know  why  I  have  brought  you 
away  by  this  train  ?  Don't  you  know  that  I  shall  get  you  down 
to  Dover  in  time  to  give  you  something  nice  for  dinner;  then, 
if  the  sea  is  quite  smooth,  we  go  on  board  before  the  people 
come ;  then  we  cross  over  to  Calais  and  go  to  a  hotel  there ; 
then  you  get  a  good,  long,  sound  sleep,  you  little  mother,  and  the 
next  day — that  is  to-morrow — about  noon,  1  think,  we  go  easily 
on  to  Paris.     ^Vhat  do  you  think  of  that,  now?" 

"Whatever  you  do  will  be  right,  Natalushka ;  you  know  I 
have  never  before  had  a  daughter  to  look  after  me." 

Natalie's  programme  was  fulfilled  to  the  letter,  and  with  good 
fortune.  They  dined  in  the  hotel,  had  some  tea,  and  then  went 
down  through  the  dark  clear  night  to  the  packet.  The  sea  was 
like  a  mill-pond ;  there  was  just  sufficient  motion  of  the  water 
to  make  the  reflections  of  the  stars  quiver  in  the  dark.  The  two 
women  sat  together  on  deck ;  and  as  the  steamer  gradually  took 
them  away  from  the  lights  of  the  English  coast,  Natalie  sung  to 
her  mother,  in  a  low  voice,  some  verses  of  an  old  Magyar  song, 
which  were  scarcely  audible  amidst  the  rush  of  water  and  the 
throbbing  of  the  paddles. 

Next  day  the  long  and  tedious  railway  journey  began;  and 
here  again  Natiilie  acted  as  the  most  indefatigable  and  accom- 
plished of  couriers. 

"How  do  you  manage  it,  Natalushka?"  said  the  mother,  as 
she  got  into  the  coujie,  to  this  tall  and  handsome  young  lady  who 


344  *  SUNRISE. 

was  standing  outside,  and  on  wliora  everybody  seemed  to  wait. 
"  You  get  everything  you  -want,  and  without  trouble." 

"  It  is  only  practice,  with  a  little  patience,"  she  said,  simply, 
as  she  opened  her  flask  of  white-rose  scent  and  handed  it  up  to 
her  mother. 

Necessarily,  it  was  rail  all  the  way  for  these  two  travellers. 
Not  for  them  the  joyous  assembling  on  the  Mediterranean  shore, 
where  Nice  lies  basking  in  the  sun  like  a  pink  surf  thrown  up  by 
the  waves.  Not  for  them  the  packing  of  the  great  carriage,  and 
the  swinging  away  of  the  four  horses  Avith  their  jingling  bells, 
and  the  slow  climbing  of  the  Cornice,  the  road  twisting  up  the 
face  of  the  gray  mountains,  through  perpetual  lemon-groves,  with 
far  below  the  ribbed  blue  sea.  Not  for  them  the  leisurely  trot- 
ting all  day  long  through  the  luxuriant  beauty  of  the  Riviera — 
the  sun  hot  on  the  ruddy  cliffs  of  granite,  and  on  the  terraces  of 
figs  and  vines  and  spreading  palms ;  nor  the  rattling  through  the 
narrow  streets  of  the  old  walled  towns,  with  the  scarlet -capped 
men  and  swarthy-visaged  women  shrinking  into  the  door-ways  as 
the  horses  clatter  by  ;  nor  the  quiet  evenings  in  the  hotel  garden, 
with  the  moon  rising  over  the  murmuring  sea,  and  the  air  sweet 
with  the  perfumes  of  the  south.  No.  They  climbed  a  moun- 
tain, it  is  true,  but  it  was  behind  an  engine ;  they  beheld  the 
Mont  Cenis  snows,  but  it  was  from  the  window  of  a  railway-car- 
riage. Then  they  passed  through  the  black,  resounding  tunnel, 
with,  after  a  time,  its  sudden  glares  of  light ;  finally  the  world 
seemed  to  open  around  them  :  they  looked  down  upon  Italy. 

"  Many  a  one  has  died  for  you,  and  been  glad,"  said  the  girl, 
almost  to  herself,  as  she  gazed  abroad  on  the  great  valleys,  with 
here  and  there  a  peak  crowned  with  a  castle  or  a  convent,  with 
the  vine-terraced  hills  showing  now  and  again  a  few  white  dots 
of  houses,  and  beyond  and  above  all  these  the  far  blue  mountains, 
with  their  sharp  line  of  snow. 

Then  they  descended,  and  passed  through  the  luxuriant  yellow 
plains — the  sunset  blazing  on  the  rows  of  willows  and  on  the 
square  farm-houses  with  their  gaudy  picture  over  the  arched  gate- 
way ;  while  always  in  the  background  rose  the  dark  masses  of 
the  mountains,  solemn  and  distant,  beyond  the  golden  glow  of 
the  fields.     They  reached  Turin  at  dusk,  both  of  them  very  tired. 

So  far  scarcely  anything  had  been  said  about  the  object  of 
their  journey,  though  they  could  have  talked  in  safety  even  iu 


SOUTllWAHI).  845 

railway-carriages,  as  they  spolvC  to  each  otlier  ia  Magyar.  But 
Natalie  refused  to  listen  to  any  dissuading  counsel  ;  when  her 
mother  began,  she  would  say,  "Dear  little  mother,  will  you  have 
some  wliite  rose  for  your  forehead  and  your  fingers  ?" 

From  Turin  they  had  to  start  again  early  in  the  morning. 
They  had  by  this  time  grown  quite  accustomed  to  the  plod,  plod- 
ding of  the  train ;  it  seemed  almost  one  of  the  normal  and  nec- 
essary conditions  of  life.  They  went  down  by  Genoa,  Spczia,  Pisa, 
Sienna,  and  Rome,  making  the  shortest  possible  pauses. 

One  night  the  windows  of  a  sitting-room  in  a  hotel  at  the 
western  end  of  Naples  were  opened,  and  a  young  girl  stepped 
out  on  to  the  high  balcony,  a  light  shawl  thrown  over  her  lic-id 
and  shoulders.  It  was  a  beautiful  night ;  the  air  sweet  and  still ; 
the  moonlight  shining  over  the  scarcely  stirring  waters  of  the 
bay.  Before  her  rose  the  vast  bulk  of  the  Castello  delF  Ovo,  a 
huge  mass  of  black  shadow  against  the  silvery  sea  and  the  lam- 
bent sky;  then  far  away  throbbed  the  dull  orange  lights  of  the 
city  ;  and  beyond  these,  again,  A'esuvius  towered  into  the  clear 
darkness,  with  a  line  of  sharp,  intense  crimson  marking  its  sum- 
mit. Through  the  perfect  silence  she  could  hear  the  sound  of 
the  oars  of  a  boat,  itself  unseen  ;  and  over  the  Avhispering  waters 
came  some  faint  and  distant  refrain,  "Add/'o  !  addio  P''  At  lennlh 
even  these  sounds  ceased,  and  she  was  alone  in  the  still,  murmur- 
ing, beautiful  night. 

She  looked  across  to  the  great  city.  Who  were  her  unknown 
friends  there  ?  What  mighty  power  was  she  about  to  invoke  on 
the  morrow  ?  There  was  no  need  for  her  to  consult  the  card  that 
Calabressa  had  given  her;  again  and  again,  in  the  night-time, 
when  her  mother  lay  asleep,  she  had  studied  it,  and  wondered 
whether  it  would  prove  the  talisman  the  giver  had  called  it.  She 
looked  at  this  great  city  beside  the  sea,  and  only  knew  that  it 
was  beautiful  in  the  moonlight;  she  had  no  fear  of  anything  that 
it  contained.  And  then  she  thought  of  another  city,  far  away  in 
the  colder  north,  and  she  wondered  if  a  certain  window  were  open 
there,  overlooking  the  river  and  the  gas-lamps  and  the  bridges, 
and  whether  there  was  one  there  thinking  of  her.  Could  not  the 
night-wind  carry  the  speech  and  desire  of  her  heart? — "Good- 
night, good-night.  .  .  .  Love  knows  no  fear.  .  .  .  Not  yet  is  our 
life  forever  broken  for  us." 

15* 


o46  SUNRISE. 


CHAPTER  XLYI. 

THE    BEECHES. 

On  the  same  niglit  Lord  Evelyn  was  in  Brand's  rooms,  arguing, 
expostulating,  entreating,  all  to  no  purpose.  lie  was  astounded 
at  the  calmness  with  which  this  man  appeared  to  accept  the  ter- 
rible task  imposed  on  him,  and  at  the  stoical  indifference  with 
which  he  looked  forward  to  the  almost  certain  sacrifice  of  his 
own  life. 

"  You  have  become  a  fanatic  of  fanatics !"  he  exclaimed,  in- 
dignantly. 

George  Brand  was  staring  out  of  the  windows  into  the  dark 
night,  somewhat  absently. 

"I  suppose,"  he  answered,  "all  the  great  things  that  have  been 
done  in  the  world  have  been  founded  in  fanaticism.  All  that  I 
can  hope  for  now  is  that  this  particular  act  of  the  Council  may 
have  the  good  eifect  they  hope  from  it.  They  ought  to  know. 
They  see  the  sort  of  people  with  whom  they  have  to  deal.  I 
should  have  thought,  with  Lind,  that  it  was  unwise — that  it  would 
shock,  or  even  terrify ;  but  my  opinion  is  neither  here  nor  there. 
Further  talking  is  of  no  use,  Ev'elyn  ;  the  thing  is  settled ;  what 
I  have  to  consider  now,  as  regards  myself,  is  how  I  can  best  bene- 
fit a  few  people  whom  I  am  interested  in,  and  you  can  help  me 
in  that." 

"  But  I  appeal  to  yourself — to  your  conscience !"  Lord  Evelyn 
cried,  almost  in  despair.  "You  cannot  shift  the  responsibility 
to  them.  You  are  answerable  for  your  own  actions.  I  say  you 
are  sacrificing  your  conscience  to  your  pride.  You  are  saying  to 
vourself,  'Do  these  foreio-ners  think  that  1  am  afraid?'" 

"I  am  not  thinking  of  myself  at  all,''  said  Brand,  simply; 
"  that  is  all  over.  \Yhen  I  swore  to  give  myself  to  this  Society 
— to  obey  the  commands  of  the  Council — then  my  responsibility 
ceased.  What  I  have  to  do  is  to  be  faithful  to  my  oath,  and  to 
the  promise  I  have  made."  Almost  unconsciously  he  glanced  at 
the  ring  that  Natalie  had  given  him.     "You  would  not  have  me 


TlIK    BEECHES,  347 

.skulk  back  like  a  coward?  You  would  not  liavc  me  'play  and 
not  pay  V     What  1  have  undertaken  to  do  I  will  do." 

Presently  lie  added, 

"There  is  soniething  you  could  do,  Evelyn.  Don't  let  us  talk 
further  of  myself :  I  said  before,  if  a  sin<rle  man  drops  out  of  the 
ranks,  what  matter? — the  army  marches  on.  And  what  has  been 
concerning  me  of  late  is  the  effect  that  this  act  of  the  Council  mav 
have  on  our  thousands  of  friends  throughout  this  country.  Now, 
Evelyn,  when — when  the  affair  comes  off,  I  think  you  would  do 
a  great  deal  of  good  by  pointing  out  in  the  papers  what  a  scoun- 
drel this  man  Zaccatelli  was;  how  he  had  merited  his  punish- 
ment, and  how  it  might  seem  justifiable  to  the  people  over  there 
that  one  should  take  the  law  into  one's  own  hands  in  such  an  ex- 
ceptional case.  You  might  do  that,  Evelyn,  for  the  sake  of  the 
Society.  The  people  over  here  don't  know  what  a  ruffian  he  is, 
and  how  he  is  beyond  the  ordinary  reach  of  the  law,  or  how  the 
poor  people  have  groaned  under  his  iniquities.  Don't  seek  to 
justify  me ;  I  shall  be  beyond  the  reach  of  excuse  or  execration 
by  that  time;  but  you  might  break  the  shock,  don't  you  see? — 
you  might  explain  a  little — you  might  intimate  to  our  friends 
who  have  joined  us  here  that  they  had  not  joined  any  kind  of 
Camorra  association.  That  troubles  me  more  than  anything.  I 
confess  to  you  that  I  have  got  quite  reconciled  to  the  affair,  as 
far  as  any  sacrifice  on  my  own  part  is  concerned.  That  bitter- 
ness is  over:  I  can  even  think  of  Xatalie." 

The  last  words  were  spoken  slowly,  and  in  a  low  voice ;  his 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  night -world  outside.  What  could  his 
friend  say?  They  talked  late  into  the  night;  but  all  his  remon- 
strances and  prayers  were  of  no  avail  as  against  this  clear  resolve. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  discussion  ?"  was  the  placid  answer. 
"  What  would  you  have  me  do  ? — break  my  oaths — put  aside  my 
sacred  promise  made  to  Natalie,  and  give  up  the  Society  alto- 
gether? My  good  fellow,  let  us  talk  of  something  less  impos- 
sible." 

And  indeed,  though  he  deprecated  discussion  on  this  point,  ho 
was  anxious  to  talk.  The  fact  was  that  of  late  he  had  come  to 
fear  sleep,  as  the  look  of  his  eyes  testified.  In  the  daytime,  or 
as  long  as  he  could  sit  up  with  a  companion,  he  could  force  him- 
self to  think  only  of  the  immediate  and  practical  demands  of 
the  hour;  vain  regrets  over  what  miofht  have  been — and  even  oc- 


348  SUNRISE. 

casional  uneasy  soarcliings  of  conscience — he  could  by  an  effort 
of  will  ignore.  lie  had  accepted  his  fate ;  he  had  schooled  him- 
self to  look  forward  to  it  without  fear ;  henceforth  there  was  to 
be  no  indecision,  no  murmur  of  complaint.  But  in  the  night- 
time— in  dreams — the  natural  craving  for  life  asserted  itself :  it 
seemed  so  sad  to  bid  good-bye  forever  to  those  whom  he  had 
known  and  loved  ;  and  mostly  always  it  was  Natalie  herself  who 
stood  there,  regarding  him  with  streaming  ej'es,  and  wringing 
her  hands,  and  sobbing  to  him  farewell.  The  morning  light,  or 
the  first  calls  in  the  thoroughfare  below,  or  the  shrieking  of  some 
railway-whistle  on  Hungerford  Bridge,  brought  an  inexpressible 
relief  by  banishing  these  agonizing  visions.  No  matter  how  soon 
Waters  was  astir,  he  found  his  master  up  before  him — dressed, 
and  walking  up  and  down  the  room,  or  reading:  some  evenino- 
newspaper  of  the  previous  day.  Sometimes  Bi-and  occupied 
himself  in  getting  ready  his  own  breakfast,  but  he  had  to  explain 
to  Waters  that  this  was  not  meant  as  a  rebuke — it  was  merely 
that,  being  awake  early,  he  wished  for  some  occupation. 

Early  on  the  morning  after  this  last  despairing  protest  on  the 
part  of  Lord  Evelyn,  Brand  drove  up  to  Paddington  Station,  on 
his  way  to  pay  a  hurried  visit  to  his  Buckinghamshire  home. 
Nearly  all  his  affairs  had  been  settled  in  town ;  there  remained 
some  arrangements  to  be  made  in  the  country.  Lord  Evelyn 
was  to  have  joined  him  in  this  excursion,  but  at  the  last  moment 
had  not  put  in  an  appearance;  so  Brand  jumped  in  just  as  the 
train  was  starting,  and  found  himself  alone  in  the  carriage. 

The  bundle  of  newspapers  he  had  with  him  did  not  seem  to 
interest  him  much.  He  was  more  than  ever  puzzled  to  account 
for  the  continued  silence  of  Natalie.  Each  morning  he  had  been 
confidently  expecting  to  hear  from  her — to  have  some  explana- 
tion of  her  sudden  departure — but  as  the  days  went  by,  and  no 
message  of  any  sort  arrived,  his  wonder  became  merged  in  anx- 
iety. It  seemed  so  strange  that  she  should  thus  absent  herself, 
■when  she  had  been  counting  on  each  day  on  which  she  might 
see  him  as  if  it  were  some  gracious  gift  from  Heaven. 

All  that  he  was  certain  of  in  the  matter  was  that  Lind  knew 
no  more  than  himself  as  to  where  Natalie  had  gone.  One  af- 
ternoon, going  out  from  his  rooms  into  Buckingham  Street,  he 
caught  sight  of  Beratinsky  loitering  about  farther  up  the  little 
thoroughfare,  about  the   corner   of  John  Street.      Beratinskv's 


THE  UEECHES.  349 

back  was  turned  to  Iiim,  and  so  he  took  advantage  of  the  mo- 
ment to  open  the  gate,  for  which  he  had  a  private  ke}',  leading 
down  to  the  old  York  Gate;  from  thence  he  made  his  way 
round  by  Villiers  Street,  whence  he  could  get  a  better  view  of 
the  little  black-a-vised  Pole's  proceedings. 

He  speedily  convinced  himself  that  Beratinsky,  though  occa- 
sionally he  walked  along  in  the  direction  of  Adam  Street,  and 
though  sometimes  he  would  leisurely  stroll  up  to  the  Strand,  was 
in  reality  keeping  an  eye  on  Buckingham  Street ;  and  he  had  not 
the  least  doubt  that  he  himself  was  the  object  of  this  surveillance, 
lie  laughed  to  himself.  Had  these  wise  people  in  Lisle  Street, 
then,  discovering  that  Natalie's  mother  was  in  London,  arrived  at 
the  conclusion  that  she  and  her  daughter  had  taken  refuge  in  so 
very  open  a  place  of  shelter?  When  Beratinsky  was  least  expect- 
ing any  such  encounter,  Brand  went  up  and  tapped  him  on  the 
shoulder. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Beratinsky  ?"  said  he,  when  the  other 
had  wheeled  round.  "This  is  not  the  most  agreeable  place  for  a 
stroll.     Why  do  you  not  go  down  to  the  Embankment  Gardens?" 

Beratinsky  was  angry  and  confused,  but  did  not  quite  lose  his 
self-command. 

"  I  am  waiting  for  some  one,"  he  said,  curtly. 

"Or  to  find  out  about  some  one  ?  Well,  I  will  save  you  some 
trouble.  Lind  wishes  to  know  where  his  wife  and  daughter  are, 
I  imagine." 

"Is  that  unnatural?" 

"  I  suppose  not.  I  heard  he  had  been  down  to  Hans  Place, 
where  Madame  Lind  was  staying." 

"  You  knew,  then  ?"  the  other  said,  quickly. 

"Oh  yes,  I  knew.  Now,  if  y(Mt  will  be  frank  with  me,  I  may 
be  of  some  assistance  to  you.  Lind  does  not  know  where  his 
wife  and  daught(>r  are  ?" 

"  You  know  he  does  not." 

"And  you — perhaps  you  fancied  that  one  or  other  might  be 
sending  a  message  to  me — might  call,  perhaps — or  even  that  I 
ini<iht  have  got  them  rooms  for  the  time  being?" 

The  Englishman's  penetrating  gray  eyes  were  difficult  to  avoid. 

"  Y'ou  appear  to  know  a  good  deal,  Mr.  Brand,"  Beratinsky 
said,  somewhat  sulkily.  "  Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  where  they 
are  now  ?" 


350  SUNRISE. 

"  I  can  tell  you  where  tlicy  are  not,  and  that  is  in  London." 

The  other  looked  surprised,  then  suspicious. 

"  Oh,  believe  me  or  not,  as  you  please  :  I  only  wish  to  save  you 
trouble.  I  tell  you  that,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  Miss  Lind  and 
her  mother  are  not  in  London,  nor  in  this  country  even." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?" 

"  Pardon  me ;  you  are  going  too  far.  I  only  tell  you  what  I 
believe.  In  return,  as  I  have  saved  you  some  trouble,  I  shall  ex- 
pect you  to  let  me  know  if  you  hear  anything  about  them.  Is 
that  too  much  to  ask  ?" 

"  Then  you  really  don't  know  where  they  are  ?"  Beratinsky 
said,  with  a  quick  glance. 

"  I  do  not ;  but  they  have  left  London — that  I  do  know." 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  said  the  other,  more  hum- 
bly.    "  I  wish  you  good  evening,  Mr.  Brand." 

"  Stay  a  moment.  Can  you  tell  me  what  Yacov  Kirski's  ad- 
dress is  ?  I  have  something  to  arrange  with  him  before  I  leave 
England." 

He  took  out  his  note-book,  and  put  down  the  address  that 
Beratinsky  gave  him.  Then  the  latter  moved  away,  taking  off 
his  hat  politely,  but  not  shaking  hands. 

Brand  was  amused  rather  than  surprised  at  this  little  advent- 
ure; but  when  day  after  day  passed,  and  no  tidings  came  from 
Natalie,  he  o-rew  alarmed.  Each  mornino-  he  was  certain  there 
would-be  a  letter;  each  morning  the  postman  rung  the  bell 
below,  and  Waters  would  tumble  down  the  stairs  at  breakneck 
speed,  but  not  a  word  came  from  Natalie  or  her  mother. 

At  the  little  Buckinghamshire  station  at  which  he  stopped  he 
found  a  dog-cart  waiting  to  convey  him  to  Hill  Beeches ;  and 
speedily  he  was  driving  away  through  the  country  he  knew  so 
well,  now  somewhat  desolate  in  the  faded  tints  of  the  waning 
of  the  year ;  and  perhaps,  as  he  drew  near  to  the  red  and  white 
house  on  the  side  of  the  hill,  he  began  to  reproach  himself  that 
he  had  not  made  the  place  more  his  home.  Though  the  grounds 
and  shrubberies  were  neat  and  trim  enough,  there  was  a  neglected 
look  about  the  house  itself.  When  he  entered,  his  footsteps  rung 
hollow  on  uncarpeted  floors.  Chintz  covered  the  furniture  ;  mus- 
lin smothered  the  chandeliers ;  everything  seemed  to  be  locked 
up  and  put  away.  And  this  comely  woman  of  sixty  or  so  who 
came  forward  to  meet  liim — a  smiling,  gracious  dame,  with  sil- 


THE    UEECIIES.  Hol 

very-white  liair,  and  pcach-likc  checks,  and  the  most  winning  little 
laui:;li — was  nut  her  first  word  sonic  hint  to  the  youmj;  master 
that  he  had  been  a  long  time  away,  and  how  the  neighbors  were 
many  a  time  asking  her  when  a  young  mistress  was  coming  to 
the  Beeches,  to  keep  the  place  as  it  used  to  be  kept  in  the  olden 
days  ? 

"Ah,  well,  sir,  you  know  how  the  people  do  talk,"  she  said,  with 
an  apologetic  smile.  "And  there  was  Mrs.  Diggles,  sir,  that  is  at 
the  Checkers,  sir,  and  she  was  speaking  only  the  other  day,  as  it 
might  be,  about  the  old  oak  cupboard  that  you  remember,  sir, 
and  she  was  saying,  '  Well,  I  wouldn't  give  that  cupboard  to 
Mahster  Brand,  though  he  offered  me  twenty  pound  for  it  years 
ago — twenty  pound,  not  a  farthing  less.  My  vather  he  gave  me 
that  cupboard  when  I  was  married,  and  ten  shillings  was  what  he 
paid  for  it ;  and  then  there  was  twenty-five  shillings  paid  for  put- 
ting that  cupboard  to  rights.  And  then  the  wet  day  that  Mahs- 
ter Brand  was  out  shooting,  and  the  Checkers  that  crowded  that 
I  had  to  ask  him  and  the  other  gentleman  to  go  into  my  own 
room,  and  what  does  he  say  but,  "  Mrs.  Diggles,  I  will  give  you 
twenty  pound  for  that  cupboard  of  yourn,  once  you  knock  off  the 
feet  and  the  cui'ly  bit  on  the  top."  Law,  how  the  gentle-folk  do 
know  about  "sech  things :  that  was  exactly  what  my  vather  he 
paid  the  twenty-five  shillings  for.  But  how  could  I  give  him  my 
cupboard  for  twenty  pound  when  I  had  promised  it  to  my  nephew  ? 
When  I'm  taken,  that  cupboard  my  nephew  shall  have.',  Well, 
sir,  the  people  do  say  that  Mrs.  Diggles  and  her  nephew  have  had 
a  quarrel ;  and  this  was  what  she  was  saying  to  me — begging  your 
pardon,  sir — only  the  other  day,  as  it  might  be;  says  she,  'Mrs. 
AUcyne,  this  is  what  I  will  do :  w^hen  your  young  mahster  brings 
home  a  wife  to  the  Beeches,  I  will  make  his  lady  a  wedding-pres- 
ent of  that  cupboard  of  mine — that  I  will,  if  so  be  as  she  is  not 
too  proud  to  accept  it  from  one  in  my  'umblc  station.  It  will  be 
a  wedding-present,  and  the  sooner  the  better,'  says  she — begging 
of  your  pardon,  sir." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  her,  Mrs.  AUeyne.  Now  let  me  have  the 
keys,  if  you  please ;  I  have  one  or  two  things  to  see  to,  and  I  will 
not  detain  you  now." 

She  handed  him  the  keys  and  accepted  her  dismissal  gratefullv, 
for  she  was  anxious  to  get  off  and  see  about  luncheon.  Then 
Brand  procecdejl  to  stroll  quietly,  and  perhaps  even  sadly,  through 


352  SUNRISE. 

the  empty  and  resounding  rooms  tliat  had  for  him  many  mem- 
ories. 

It  was  a  rambling,  old-fashioned,  oddly-built  house,  that  had 
been  added  on  to  by  successive  generations,  according  to  their 
needs,  without   much  reference  to  the   original  design.     It  had 
come  into  the  possession  of  the  Brands  of  Darlington  by  mar- 
riao-e :  George  Brand's  grandfather  having  married  a  certain  Lady 
Mary  Heaton,  the  last  representative  of  an  old  and  famous  family. 
And  these  lonely  rooms  that  he  now  walked  through — remarking 
here  and  there  what  prominence  had  been  given  by  his  mother  to 
the  many  trophies  of  the  chase  that  he  himself  had  sent  home 
from  various  parts  of  the   world — were  hung  chiefly  with  por- 
traits, whose  costumes  ranged  from  the  stiff  frill  and  peaked  waist 
of  Elizabeth  to  the  low  neck  and  ringleted  hair  of  Victoria.     But 
there  was  in  an  inner  room  which  he  entered  another  collection 
of  portraits  that  seemed  to  have  a  peculiar  fascination  for  him — 
a  series  of  miniatures  of  various  members  of  the  Heaton  and 
Brand  families,  reaching  down  even  to  himself,  for  the  last  that 
was  added  had  been  one  taken  when  he  was  a  lad,  to  send  to  his 
mother,  then  Iving  dangerouslv  ill  at  Cannes.    There  was  her  own 
portrait,  too — that  of  a  delicate-looking  woman  with  large,  lus- 
trous, soft  eyes  and  wan  cheeks,  who  had  that  peculiar  tenderness 
and   sweetness   of  expression   that  frequently  accompanies   con- 
sumption.    He  sat  looking  at  these  various  portraits  a  long  time, 
wondering  now  and  again   what  this  or  that  one  may  have  suf- 
fered or  rejoiced  in  ;   but  more  than  all  he  lingered  over  the  last, 
as  if  to  bid  those  beautiful  tender  eyes  a  final  farewell. 

He  was  startled  by  tl\e  sound  of  some  vehicle  rattling  over  the 
gravel  outside ;  then  he  heard  some  one  come  walking  through 
the  echoing  rooms.  Instantly,  he  scarcely  knew  why,  he  shut 
down  the  lid  of  the  case  in  front  of  him. 

"  Missed  the  train  by  just  a  second,"  Lord  Evelyn  said,  coming 
into  the  room  ;  "  I  am  awfully  sorry." 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  Brand  answered  ;  "  but  I  am  glad  you 
have  come.  I  have  everything  squared  up  in  London,  I  think ; 
there  only  remains  to  settle  a  few  things  down  here." 

He  spoke  in  quite  a  matter-of-fact  way — so  much  so  that  his 
friend  forgot  to  utter  any  further  and  unavailing  protest. 

"  You  know  I  am  supposed  to  be  going  away  abroad  for  a  long 
time,"  he  continued.    "  You  must  take  my  T)lace,  Evelyn,  in  a  sort 


TIIK    BEKCHES.  iio'-i 

of  way,  and  I  will  introduce  you  to-day  to  the  people  you  must 
look  after.  There  is  a  grandson  of  my  mother's  nurse,  for  exam- 
ple: I  promised  to  do  something  for  him  when  he  completed  his 
apprenticeship ;  and  two  old  ladies  who  have  seen  better  days — 
they  are  not  supposed  to  accept  any  help,  but  you  can  make  won- 
derful discoveries  about  the  value  of  their  old  china,  and  carry  it 
off  to  Jjond  Street.  I  will  leave  you  plenty  of  funds ;  before  my 
nephew  comes  into  the  place  there  will  be  sufficient  for  him  and 
to  spare.  But  as  for  yourself,  Evelyn,  I  want  you  to  take  some 
little  souvenir — how  about  this?" 

lie  went  and  fetched  a  curious  old  silver  drinking -cup,  set 
round  the  lip  and  down  the  handle  with  uncut  rubies  and  sap- 
phires. 

"  I  don't  like  the  notion  of  the  thing  at  all,"  Lord  Evelyn  said, 
ratlier  gloomily  ;  but  it  was  not  the  cup  that  he  was  refusing  thus 
ungraciously. 

"  After  a  time  people  will  give  me  up  for  lost ;  and  I  have  left 
you  ample  power  to  give  any  one  you  can  think  of  some  little 
present,  don't  you  know,  as  a  memento — whatever  strikes  your 
own  fancy.  I  want  Natalie  to  have  that  Louis  XV.  table  over 
there — people  rather  admire  the  inlaid  work  on  it,  and  the  devices 
inside  are  endless.  Ilowevei",  we  will  make  out  a  list  of  these 
things  afterward.  Will  you  drive  with  me  down  to  the  village 
now  ?     I  want  you  to  see  my  pensioners." 

"All  right — if  you  like,"  Lord  Evelyn  said;  though  his  heart 
was  not  in  the  work. 

He  walked  out  of  this  little  room  and  made  his  way  to  the 
front-door,  fancying  that  Brand  would  immediately  follow.  But 
Brand  returned  to  that  room,  and  opened  the  case  of  miniatures. 
Then  he  took  from  his  pocket  a  little  parcel,  and  unrolled  it ;  it 
was  a  portrait  of  Xatalie — a  photograph  on  porcelain,  most  deli- 
cately colored,  and  surrounded  with  an  antique  silver  frame.  lie 
gazed  for  a  minute  or  two  at  the  beautiful  face,  and  somehow 
the  eyes  seemed  sad  to  him.  Then  he  placed  the  little  portrait 
— which  itself  looked  like  a  miniature — next  the  miniature  of  his 
mother,  and  shut  the  case  and  locked  it. 

"  1  beg  your  pardon,  Evelyn,  for  keeping  you  waiting,"  he  said, 
at  the  front-door.  "  Will  you  particularly  remember  this — that 
none  of  the  portraits  here  are  to  be  disturbed  on  any  account 
whatever?" 


354  SUNRISE. 


CHAPTER  XLVIL 

AT    PORTICI. 

Natalie  slept  far  from  soundly  the  first  night  after  her  arrival 
in  Naples ;  she  was  glad  when  the  slow,  anxious  hours,  with  all 
their  bewildering  uncertainties  and  forebodings,  were  over.  She 
rose  early,  and  dressed  quickly  ;  she  threw  open  the  tall  French 
windows  to  let  in  the  soft  silken  air  from  the  sea ;  then  she  step- 
ped out  on  to  the  balcony  to  marvel  once  more — she  who  knew 
Naples  well  enough — at  the  shining  beauty  around  her. 

It  was  a  morning  to  give  courage  to  any  one ;  the  air  was  fresh 
and  sweet ;  she  drank  deep  of  the  abundant  gladness  and  bright- 
ness of  the  world.  The  great  plain  of  waters  before  her  shimmer- 
ed and  sparkled  in  millions  of  diamonds;  with  here  and  there 
long  splashes  of  sunny  green,  and  here  and  there  long  splashes  of 
purple  where  the  sea-weed  showed  through.  The  waves  sprung- 
white  on  the  projecting  walls  of  the  Castello  dell'  Ovo,  and  wash- 
ed in  on  the  shore  with  a  soft  continuous  murmur;  the  brown- 
sailed  fishing-boats  went  by,  showing  black  or  red  as  they  hap- 
pened to  be  in  sunshine  or  shadow.  Then  far  away  beyond  the 
shining  sea  the  island  of  Capri  lay  like  a  blue  cloud  on  the  ho- 
rizon ;  and  far  away  beyond  the  now  awakening  city  near  her 
rose  Vesuvius,  the  twin  peaks  dark  under  some  swathes  of  cloud, 
the  sunlight  touching  the  lower  slopes  into  a  yellowish  green,  and 
shining  on  the  pink  fringe  of  villas  along  the  shore.  On  so  fair 
and  bright  a  morning  hope  came  as  natural  to  her  as  singing  to 
a  bird.  The  fears  of  the  night  were  over ;  she  could  not  be  afraid 
of  what  such  a  day  should  bring  forth. 

And  yet — and  yet — from  time  to  time — and  just  for  a  second 
or  so — her  heart  seemed  to  stand  still.  And  she  was  so  silent 
and  preoccupied  at  breakfast,  that  her  mother  remarked  it;  and 
Natalie  had  to  excuse  herself  by  saying  that  she  was  a  little  tired 
with  the  travelling.  After  breakfast  she  led  her  mother  into  the 
reading-room,  and  said,  in  rather  an  excited  way, 

"  Now,  mother,  here  is  a  treat  for  you ;  you  will  get  all  the 
English  papers  here,  and  all  the  news."   ' 


AT    POKTICI.  'M)0 

"You  forget,  Natalie,"  said  her  mother,  smiling,  "that  Eiiglislj 
papers  are  not  of  mwcli  use  to  me." 

"Ah,  well,  the  foreign  papers,"  she  said,  quickly.  "You  see, 
mother,  I  want  to  go  along  to  a  chemist's  to  get  some  white  rose." 

"You  should  not  throw  it  about  the  railway  carriages  so  much, 
Natalushka,"  the  unsuspecting  mother  said,  rc{)rovingly.  "You 
are  extravagant." 

She  did  not  heed. 

"Perhaps  they  will  have  it  in  Naples.  AVait  until  I  come 
back,  mother ;  I  shall  not  be  long." 

But  it  was  not  any  white-rose  scent  that  was  in  her  mind  as 
she  went  rapidly  away  and  got  ready  to  go  out;  and  it  was  not 
in  search  of  any  chemist's  shop  that  she  made  her  way  to  the 
Via  Roma.  Why,  she  had  aske'd  herself  that  morning,  as  she 
stood  on  the  balcony,  and  drank  in  the  sunlight  and  the  sweet 
air,  should  she  take  the  poor  tired  mother  with  her  on  this  ad- 
venture? If  there  was  danger,  she  would  brave  it  by  herself. 
She  walked  quickly — [jerhaps  anxious  to  make  the  first  plunge. 

She  had  no  ditiiculty  in  finding  the  ^'ico  Carlo,  though  it  was 
one  of  the  narrow'est  and  steepest  of  the  small,  narrow,  and  steep 
lanes  leading  off  the  main  thoroughfare  into  the  masses  of  tall 
and  closely-built  houses  on  the  side  of  the  hill.  But  when  she 
looked  up  and  recognized  the  little  plate  bearing  the  name  at  the 
corner,  she  turned  a  little  pale ;  something,  she  knew  not  what, 
was  now  so  near. 

And  as  she  turned  into  this  narrow  and  squalid  little  alley, 
it  seemed  as  if  her  eyes,  through  some  excitement  or  other, 
observed  the  objects  around  her  with  a  strange  intensity.  She 
could  remember  each  and  every  one  of  them  afterward  —  the 
fruit-sellers  bawling,  and  the  sellers  of  acidulated  drinks  out-roar- 
ing them ;  the  shoemakers  already  at  work  at  their  open  stalls ; 
mules  laden  with  vegetables;  a  negro  monk,  with  his  black  woolly 
head  above  the  brown  hood  ;  a  venerable  letter-writer  at  a  small 
table,  spectacles  on  nose  and  pen  in  hand,  with  two  women  whis- 
pering to  him  what  he  was  to  write  for  them.  She  made  her  way 
up  the  steep  lane,  through  the  busy,  motley,  malodorous  crowd, 
until  she  reached  the  Odrncr  pointed  out  to  her  by  Calabressa. 

But  he  had  not  told  her  which  way  to  turn,  and  for  a  second 
or  two  she  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  crossing,  uncertain  and  be- 
wildered.     A  brawny-looking  fellow,  apparently   a  bulchcr,  ad- 


356  SUNEISE. 

dressed  lier;  slie  murmured  some  tlianlvs,  and  hastily  turned 
away,  taking  to  the  right.  She  had  not  gone  but  a  few  yards 
when  she  saw  the  entrance  to  a  court  which,  at  least,  was  certain- 
ly as  dark  as  that  described  by  Calabressa.  She  was  half  afraid 
that  the  man  who  had  spoken  to  her  was  following  her ;  and  so, 
without  further  hesitation,  she  plunged  into  this  gloomy  court- 
yard, which  was  apparently  quite  deserted. 

She  was  alone,  and  she  looked  around.  A  second  convinced 
her  that  she  had  hit  upon  the  place,  as  it  were  by  accident.  Over 
her  head  swung  an  oil-lamp,  that  threw  but  the  scantiest  orange 
light  into  the  vague  shadows  of  the  place ;  and  in  front  of  her 
were  the  open  door  and  windows  of  what  was  apparently  a  wine- 
shop. She  did  not  stay  to  reflect.  Perhaps  with  some  little 
tightening  of  the  mouth — unknown  to  herself — she  walked  for- 
ward and  entered  the  vaults. 

Here,  again,  no  one  was  visible ;  there  were  rows  of  tuns,  cer- 
tainly, and  a  musty  odor  in  the  place,  but  no  sign  of  any  trade 
or  business  being  carried  on.  Suddenly  out  of  the  darkness  ap- 
peared a  figure — so  suddenly  indeed  as  to  startle  her.  Had  this 
man  been  seen  in  ordinary  daylight,  he  would  no  doubt  have  look- 
ed nothing  worse  than  a  familiar  type  of  the  fat,  black-a-vised 
Italian — not  a  very  comely  person,  it  is  true,  but  not  in  any  way 
horrible — but  now  these  dusky  shadows  lent  something  ghoul- 
ish-looking to  his  bushy  head  and  greasy  face  and  sparkling  black 
eyes. 

"  What  is  the  pleasure  of  the  young  lady  ?"  he  said,  curtly. 

Natalie  had  been  startled. 

"I  wished  to  inquire — I  wished  to  mention,"  she  stammered, 
"  one  Bartolotti." 

But  at  the  same  time  she  was  conscious  of  a  strange  sinking  of 
the  heart.  Was  this  the  sort  of  creature  who  was  expected  to 
save  the  life  of  her  lover? — this  the  sort  of  man  to  pit  against 
Ferdinand  Lind?  Poor  old  Calabressa — she  thought  he  meant 
well,  but  he  boasted,  he  was  foolish. 

This  heavy-faced  and  heavy-bodied  man  in  the  dusk  did  not 
reply  at  once.     He  turned  aside,  saying, 

"Excuse  me,  signorina,  it  is  dark  here  ;  they  have  neglected  to 
light  the  lamps  as  yet." 

Then,  with  much  composure,  he  got  a  lamp,  struck  a  match, 
and  lit  it.     The  light  was  not  great,  but  he  placed  it  deliberately 


AT    PORTICI.  357 

SO  that  it  shone  on  Natalie,  and  then  he  calmly  investigated  her 
appearance. 

"  Yes,  .signoriiia,  you  mentioned  one  Bartolotti,"  he  remarked, 
in  a  more  respectful  tone. 

Natalie  hesitated.  According  to  Calabressa's  account,  the  mere 
mention  of  the  name  was  to  act  as  a  talisman  which  would  work 
wonders  for  her.  This  obese  person  merely  stood  there,  awaiting 
what  she  should  sav. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  said,  in  great  embarrassment,  "  you  know  one 
Calabressa  V 

"Ah,  Calabressa!"  he  said,  and  the  dull  face  lighted  up  with 
a  little  more  intelligence.  "Yes,  of  course,  one  knows  Cala- 
bressa." 

"  He  is  a  friend  of  mine,"  she  said.  "  Perhaps,  if  I  could  see 
him,  he  would  explain  to  you — " 

"  But  Calabressa  is  not  here ;  he  is  not  even  in  this  country, 
perhaps." 

Tiien  silence.  A  sort  of  terror  seized  her.  Was  this  the  end 
of  all  her  hopes  ?  Was  she  to  go  away  thus  ?  Then  came  a  sud- 
den cry,  wrung  from  her  despair. 

"  Oh,  sir,  you  must  tell  me  if  there  is  no  one  who  can  help  me ! 
I  have  come  to  save  one  who  is  in  trouble,  in  danger.  Calabressa 
said  to  me, 'Go  to  Naples;  go  to  such  and  such  a  place;  the 
mere  word  Bartolotti  will  give  you  powerful  friends ;  count  on 
them  ;  they  will  not  fail  one  who  belongs  to  the  Berezolyis.' 
And  now — " 

"  Your  pardon,  signorina  ;  have  the  complaisance  to  repeat  the 
name." 

"  Berezolyi,"  she   answered,  quickly  ;  "  be   said   it    would   be 

own.' 

"I  for  my  own  part  do  not  know  it;  but  that  is  of  no  conse- 
quence," said  the  man.  "  I  begin  to  perceive  what  it  is  that  you 
demand.  It  is  serious,  I  hope  my  friend  Calabressa  is  justified. 
I  have  but  to  do  my  duty." 

Then  he  glanced  again  at  the  young  lady — or,  rather,  at  her 
costume. 

"  The  assistance  you  demand  for  some  one,  signorina :  is  it  a 
sum  of  money — is  it  a  reasonable,  ordinary  sum  of  money  that 
would  be  in  the  question,  perhaps  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  signore  ;  not  at  all !" 


kn—"  " 


358  SUNRISE. 

"  Very  well.  Then  have  the  kindness  to  write  your  name  and 
your  address  for  me:  I  will  convey  your  appeal." 

He  brought  her  writing  materials ;  after  a  moment's  consider- 
ation she  wrote — ''''Natalie  Lind,  the  dauffhter  of  Natalie  Bere- 
zolyi.     Hotel ."     She  handed  him  the  paper. 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  signorina.  To-day,  perhaps  to-morrow, 
you  will  hear  from  the  friends  of  Calabressa.  You  will  be  ready 
to  go  where  they  ask  you  to  go  V 

"  Oh  yes,  yes,  sir!"  she  exclaimed.     "How  can  I  thank  you?" 

"It  is  unnecessary,"  he  said,  taking  the  lamp  to  show  her  the 
way  more  clearly.  "I  have  the  honor  to  wish  you  good-morn- 
ing, signorina."  And  again  he  bowed  respectfully.  "  Your 
most  humble  servant,  signorina." 

She  returned  to  the  hotel,  and  found  that  her  mother  had 
gone  up-stairs  to  her  own  room. 

"Natalushka,  you  have  been  away  trying  to  find  some  one?" 

"  Yes,  mother,"  the  girl  said,  rather  sadly. 

"  Why  did  you  go  alone  ?" 

"  I  thought  I  would  not  tire  you,  dear  mother." 

Then  she  described  all  the  circumstances  of  her  morning's  visit. 

"  But  why  should  you  be  so  sad,  Natalushka  ?"  the  mother 
said,  taking  her  daughter's  hand ;  "  don't  you  know  that  fine 
palaces  may  have  rusty  keys?  Oh,  I  can  reassure  you  on  that 
point.  You  will  not  have  to  deal  with  persons  like  your  friend 
the  wine-merchant — not  at  all.  I  know  at  least  as  much  as  that, 
child.     But,  you  see,  they  have  to  guard  themselves." 

Natalie  would  not  leave  the  hotel  for  a  moment.  She  pre- 
tended to  read ;  but  every  person  who  came  into  the  reading- 
room  caused  her  to  look  up  with  a  start  of  apprehensive  inquiry. 
At  last  there  came  a  note  to  her.  She  broke  open  the  envelope 
hurriedly,  and  found  a  plain  white  card,  with  those  words  written 
on  it : 

'''Be  at  the  Villa  Odelschalchi,  Portici,  at  four  this  afternoon,'''' 

Joy  leaped  to  her  face  again. 

"  Mother,  look !"  she  cried,  eagerly.  "  After  all,  we  mav 
hope.  " 

"  This  time  you  shall  not  go  alone,  Natalushka." 

"Why  not,  mother?     I  am  not  afraid." 

"1  may  be  of  use  to  you,  child.  There  may  be  friends  of 
mine  there — who  knows?     I  am  going  with  you." 


AT    POUTICI.  359 

In  course  of  time  they  hired  a  carriage,  and  drove  away 
tlirongh  tlie  crowded  and  gayly-colored  city  in  tlie  glow  of  tlie 
afternoon.  But  they  had  sufficient  prudence,  before  reaching 
Portici,  to  descend  from  the  carriage  and  proceed  on  foot.  They 
walked  quietly  along,  apparently  not  much  interested  in  wliat 
was  around  them.  Presently  Natalie  pressed  her  mother's  arm  ; 
they  were  oj)posite  the  Villa  Odelschalehi — there  was  the  name 
on  the  tlat  pillars  hy  the  gate. 

This  great  plain  building,  which  miglit  have  been  called  a 
palazzo  rather  than  a  villa,  seemed,  on  the  side  fronting  the  street, 
to  bo  entirely  closed — all  the  casements  of  the  windows  being 
shut.  But  when  they  crossed  to  the  gate,  and  pulled  the  big 
iron  handle  that  set  a  bell  ringing,  a  porter  appeared  —  a  big, 
indolent-looking  man,  who  regarded  them  calmly,  to  see  which 
would  speak  first. 

Xatalie  simply  produced  the  card  that  had  been  sent  to  her. 

"  This  is  the  Villa  Odelschalchi,  I  perceive,"  she  said. 

"Ob,  it  is  you,  then,  signorina  •"  the  porter  said,  with  great  re- 
spect.    "  Yes,  there  was  one  lady  to  come  here  at  four  o'clock — " 

"  But  the  signora  is  my  mother,"  said  Natalie,  perhaps  with  a 
trifle  of  impatience. 

The  man  hesitated  for  a  moment,  but  by  this  time  Natalie, 
accompanied  by  her  mother,  had  passed  through  the  cool  gray 
archw^ay  into  the  spacious  tessellated  court,  from  which  rose  on 
each  hand  a  wide  marble  staircase. 

"  Will  the  signorina  and  the  signora  lier  mother  condescend 
to  follow  me?''  the  porter  said,  leading  the  way  up  one  of  the 
staircases,  the  big  iron  keys  still  in  his  hand. 

They  were  shown  into  an  antechamber,  but  scantily  furnished, 
and  the  porter  disappeared.  In  a  minute  or  two  there  came  into 
the  room  a  small,  sallow-complexioned  man,  who  was  no  other 
than  the  Secretary  Granaglia.  He  bowed,  and,  as  lie  did  so, 
glanced  from  the  one  to  the  other  of  the  visitors  with  scrutiny. 

"  It  is  no  doubt  correct,  signorina,"  said  he,  addressing  him- 
self to  Natalie,  "  that  you  have  brought  the  signora  your  mother 
with  you.  We  had  thought  yon  were  alone,  from  the  message 
we  received.  No  matter ;  only  " — and  here  he  turned  to  Nata- 
lie's mother — "only,  signora,  \  ou  will  renew  your  acquaintance 
with  one  who  wishes  to  be  known  by  the  name  of  Von  Zoesch. 
I  have  no  doubt  the  signora  understands." 


360  SUNRISE. 

*'  Oh,  perfectly,  perfectly  !"  said  the  elder  •woman :  she  had 
been  familiar  with  these  prudent  changes  of  name  all  her  life. 

The  Secretary  Granaglia  bowed  and  retired. 

"  It  is  some  one  who  knows  you,  mother  ?"  Natalie  said,  breath- 
lessly. 

"Oh,  I  hope  so!"  the  other  answered.  She  was  a  little  pale, 
and  her  fingers  were  tightly  clasped. 

Then  a  heavier  step  was  heard  in  the  empty  corridors  outside. 
The  door  w^as  opened ;  there  appeared  a  tall  and  soldierly-look- 
ing man,  about  six  feet  three  in  height  and  perfectly  erect,  with 
closely-cropped  w^iite  hair,  a  long  white  mustache,  a  reddish  face, 
and  clear,  piercing,  light-blue  eyes.  The  moment  the  elder  wom- 
an saw  him  she  uttered  a  slight  cry — of  joy,  it  seemed,  and  sur- 
prise— and  sprung  to  her  feet. 

"  Stefan !" 

"Natalie!"  he  exclaimed  in  turn,  with  an  almost  boyish  laugh 
of  pleasure,  and  he  came  forward  to  her  with  both  hands  out- 
stretched, and  took  hers.  "  Why,  what  good  wind  has  brought 
you  to  this  country  ?     But  I  beg  a  thousand  pardons — " 

He  turned  and  glanced  at  Natalie. 

"  My  child,"  she  said,  "  let  me  present  you  to  my  old  friend, 
General—" 

"  Von  Zoesch,"  he  interrupted,  and  he  took  Natalie's  hand  at 
the  same  time.  "  What,  you  are  the  young  lady,  then,  who 
bearded  the  lion  in  his  den  this  morning? — and  vou  were  not 
afraid  ?  No,  I  can  see  you  are  a  Berezolyi ;  if  you  were  a 
man  you  would  be  forever  getting  yourself  and  your  friends 
into  scrapes,  and  risking  your  neck  to  get  them  out  again.  A 
Berezolyi,  truly!  'The  more  beautiful  daughter  of  a  beautiful 
mother !'  But  the  little  scamp  knew  his  insulting  iambics  were 
only  fit  to  be  thrown  into  the  fire  when  he  made  that  unjust 
comparison.  Ah,  you  young  people  have  fresh  complexions  and 
bright  eyes  on  your  side,  but  we  old  people  prefer  our  old  friends." 

"  I  hope  so,  sir,"  said  Natalie,  with  her  eyes  bent  down. 

"  And  had  your  father  no  other  messenger  that  he  must  em- 
ploy you  ?"  said  this  erect,  white-haired  giant,  who  regarded  her 
in  a  kindly  w-ay ;  "  or  is  it  that  feather-brained  fellow  Calabres- 
sa  w'ho  has  got  you  to  intercede  for  him?  Rest  assured.  Cala- 
bressa  will  soon  be  in  imminent  peril  of  being  laid  by  the  heels, 
and  he  is  therefore  supremely  happy." 


AT    rOKTICI.  361 

Before  tlie  C!;irl  could  spcalc  lie  had  turned  to  tlic  niotlier. 

"  Cuine,  my  old  friend,  shall  we  go  out  into  the  garden  ?  I 
am  sorry  the  reception-rooms  in  the  villa  are  all  dismantled;  in 
truth,  we  are  only  temporary  lodgers.  And  I  have  a  great  many 
questions  to  ask  you  about  old  friends,  particularly  your  father." 

"Stefan,  ban  you  not  understand  -why  I  have  permitted  myself 
to  leave  Hungary  f 

He  glanced  at  her  deep  mourning. 

"Ah,  is  that  so?  Well,  no  one  ever  lived  a  braver  life.  And 
how  he  kept  np  the  old  Hungarian  traditions ! — the  house  a  hotel 
from  month's  end  to  montli!s  end:  no  questions  asked  but  'Are 
you  a  stranger  i  then  my  house  is  yours.' " 

He  led  the  way  down  the  stairs,  chatting  to  this  old  friend  of 
his ;  and  though  Natalie  was  burning  with  impatience,  she  forced 
herself  to  be  silent.  Was  it  not  all  in  her  favor  that  this  mem- 
ber of  the  mysterious  Council  should  recur  to  these  former  davs, 
and  remind  himself  of  his  intimacy  with  her  family?  She  fol- 
lowed them  in  silence  :  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten  her  exist- 
ence. 

They  passed  through  the  court-yard,  and  down  some  broad 
steps.  The  true  front  of  the  building  was  on  this  seaward  side — 
a  huge  mass  of  pink,  with  green  casements.  From  the  broad 
stone  steps  a  series  of  terraces,  prettily  laid  out,  descended  to  a 
lawn;  but,  instead  of  passing  down  that  way,  the  tall,  soldierly- 
looking  man  led  his  companion  by  a  side-flight  of  steps,  w-hich 
enabled  them  to  enter  an  allee  cut  through  a  mass  of  olives  and 
orange  and  lemon  trees.  There  were  fig-trees  along  the  wall  by 
the  side  of  this  path ;  a  fountain  plashed  coolly  out  there  on  the 
lawn,  and  beyond  the  opening  showed  the  deep  blue  of  the  sea, 
with  the  clear  waves  breaking  whitelv  on  the  shores. 

They  sat  down  on  a  garden-seat ;  and  Natalie,  sitting  next  her 
mother,  waited  patiently  and  breathlessly,  scarcely  hearing  all  this 
talk  about  old  companions  and  friends. 

At  last  the  general  said, 

"  Now  about  the  business  that  brought  you  here :  is  it  serious?" 

"Oh  yes,  very,"  the  mother  said,  with  some  color  of  excitement 
appearing  in  her  worn  face ;  "  it  is  a  friend  of  ours  in  England ; 
he  has  been  charged  by  the  Society  with  some  duty  that  will  cost 
him  his  life;  we  have  come  to  intercede  for  him — to  ask  you  to 
save  him.     For  the  sake  of  old  times,  Stefan — " 

16 


362  SUNKISE. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  the  other,  looking  grave.  "  Do  you 
mean  the  Englishman  ?" 

*'  Yes,  yes ;  the  same." 

"And  who  has  told  you  what  it  is  purposed  to  have  done?" 
he  asked,  with  quite  a  change  in  his  manner. 

"  No  one,"  she  answered,  eagerly  ;  "  we  guess  that  it  is  some- 
thing of  great  danger." 

"And  if  that  is  so,  are  you  unfamiliar  with  persons  having  to 
incur  danger  ?  Why  not  an  Englishman  as  well  as  another  ? 
This  is  an  extraordinary  freak  of  yours,  Natalie ;  I  cannot  under- 
stand it.  And  to  have  come  so  far  when  any  one  in  England — 
any  one  of  us,  I  mea» — could  have  told  you  it  was  useless." 

"  But  why  useless,  if  you  are  inclined  to  interfere  ?"  she  said, 
boldly ;  "  and  I  think  my  father's  family  have  some  title  to  con- 
sideration." 

"  My  old  friend,"  said  he,  in  a  kindly  way,  "  what  is  there  in 
the  world  I  would  not  do  for  you  if  it  were  within  my  power? 
But  this  is  not.  What  you  ask  is,  to  put  the  matter  shortly,  im- 
possible— impossible !" 

In  the  brief  silence  that  followed  the  mother  heard  a  slight  sigh; 
she  turned  instantly,  and  saw  her  daughter,  as  white  as  death,  about 
to  fall.     She  caught  her  in  her  arms  with  a  slight  cry  of  alarm. 

"  Here,  Stefan,  take  my  handkerchief — dip  it  in  the  water — 
quick !" 

The  huge,  bullet -headed  man  strode  across  the  lawn  to  the 
fountain.  As  he  returned,  and  saw  before  him  the  white-lipped, 
unconscious  girl,  who  was  supported  in  her  mother's  arms,  he  said 
to  himself,  "  Now  I  understand." 


CHAPTER  XLVHI. 

AN    APPEAL, 


This  sudden  and  involuntary  confession  of  alarm  and  despair 
no  doubt  told  her  story  more  clearly  than  anything  else  could 
have  done.  General  von  Zoesch,  as  he  chose  to  call  himself,  was 
excessively  concerned  ;  he  held  her  hand  till  he  saw  the  life 
returning  to  the  pale,  beautiful  face :  he  was  profuse  and  earnest 
in  his  apologies. 


AN    APPEAL.  363 

"  My  dear  young  lady,  I  beg  a  thousand  pardons ! — I  had  no 
idea  of  ahirming  you ;  I  had  no  idea  you  were  so  deeply  inter- 
ested ;  come,  take  my  arm,  and  we  will  walk  down  into  the  open, 
whore  the  sea-air  is  cool,     I  beg  a  thousand  pardons !" 

She  had  pulled  herself  together  with  a  desperate  effort  of  will. 

"You  spoke  abruptly,  signore ;  you  used  the  word  inqxjsuble! 
I  had  imagined  it  was  unknown  to  you." 

Her  lips  were  rather  pale ;  but  there  was  a  flush  of  color  re- 
turning to  her  face,  and  her  voice  had  something  of  the  old 
proud  and  pathetic  ring  in  it. 

"Yes,"  she  continued,  standing  before  him,  with  her  eyes 
downcast,  "I  was  told  that  when  great  trouble  came  upon  mo  or 
mine  I  was  to  come  here — to  Naples — and  I  should  find  myself 
under  the  protection  of  the  greatest  power  in  Europe.  My  name 
— my  mother's  name — was  to  be  enough.  And  this  is  the  result, 
that  a  brave  man,  who  is  our  friend,  and  dear  to  us,  is  threaten- 
ed with  a  dishonorable  death  ;  and  the  very  power  that  imposed 
it  on  him — the  power  that  was  said  to  be  invincible,  and  wise, 
and  generous — is  unable  or  unwilling  to  stir  band  or  foot !" 

"A  dishonorable  death,  signorina?" 

"Oh,  signore,"  she  said,  with  a  proud  indignation,  "  do  not 
speak  to  me  as  if  I  were  a  child.  Cannot  one  see  what  is  be- 
hind all  this  secrecy  ?  Cannot  one  see  that  you  know  well  what 
has  been  done  in  England  by  your  friends  and  colleagues  ?  You 
put  this  man,  who  is  too  proud,  too  noble,  to  withdraw  from  his 
word,  on  a  service  that  involves  the  certain  sacrifice  of  his  life ! 
and  there  is  no  honor  attached  to  this  sacrifice — so  he  himself 
has  admitted.  "What  does  that  mean  ? — what  can  it  mean — but 
assassination  ?" 

He  drew  back  his  head  a  little  bit,  as  if  startled,  and  stared 
at  her. 

"  My  dear  young  lady — " 
*     But  her  courage  had  not  returned  to  her  for  nothing.     She 
raised  the  beautiful,  dark,  pathetic  eyes,  and  regarded  him  with 
an  indignant  fearlessness. 

"  That  is  what  any  one  might  guess,"  she  said.  "  But  there 
is  more.  Signore,  you  and  your  friends  meditate  the  assassina- 
tion of  the  King  of  Italy !  and  you  call  on  an  Englishman — an 
Encflishman  who  has  no  love  of  secret  and  blood-stained  wavs — " 

"  Stefan  !"  the  mother  cried,  quickly,  and  she  placed  her  hand 


364  SUNRISE. 

on  the  general's  arm ;  "  do  not  be  angry.  Do  not  heed  her — 
she  is  a  child — she  is  quick  to  speak.  Believe  me,  there  are  other 
reasons  for  our  coming  to  you." 

"Yes,  yes,  my  friend  Natalie;  all  in  good  time.  But  I  am 
most  anxious  to  put  myself  right  with  the  signorina  your  daugh- 
ter first  of  all.  Now,  my  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  taking  her 
hand,  and  putting  it  on  his  arm,  and  gently  compelling  her  to 
walk  with  him  toward  the  opener  space  where  the  sea-air  was 
cool,  "  I  again  apologize  to  you  for  having  spoken  unwittingly — " 

"  Oh,  signore,  do  not  trouble  about  that !  It  is  not  a  matter 
of  courtesy  or  politeness  that  is  in  the  question  :  it  is  the  life  of 
one  of  one's  dearest  friends.  There  are  other  times  for  polite- 
ness." 

"  Stefan,"  the  mother  interposed,  anxiously,  "  do  not  heed  her 
— she  is  agitated." 

"  My  dear  Natalie,"  said  the  general,  smiling,  "  I  admire  a 
brave  woman  as  I  admire  a  brave  man.  Do  not  I  recoonize  an- 
other  of  you  Berezolyis?  The  moment  you  think  one  of  your 
friends  is  being  wronged,  fire  and  water  won't  prevent  you  from 
speaking  out.  No,  no,  my  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  turning  to 
the  daughter,  "  you  cannot  offend  me  by  being  loyal  and  out- 
spoken." 

He  patted  her  hand,  just  as  Calabressa  had  done. 

"But  I  must  ask  you  to  listen  for  a  moment,  to  remove  one 
or  two  misconceptions.  It  is  true  I  know  something  of  the  ser- 
vice which  your  English  friend  has  undertaken  to  perform.  Be- 
lieve me,  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  assassination  of  the  Kinff 
of  Italy — nothing  in  the  world." 

She  lifted  her  dark  eyes  for  a  second,  and  regarded  him  steadily. 

"I  perceive,"  said  he,  "that  you  pay  me  the  compliment  of 
asking  me  if  I  lie.  I  do  not.  Reassure  yourself :  there  are  no 
people  in  this  country  more  loyal  to  the  present  dynasty  than, 
my  friends  and  myself.  AVe  have  no  time  for  wild  Republican 
projects." 

She  looked  somewhat  bewildered.  This  speculation  as  to  the 
possible  nature  of  the  service  demanded  of  George  Brand  had 
been  the  outcome  of  many  a  night's  anxious  self-communing ; 
and  she  had  indulged  in  the  wild  hope  that  this  man,  when 
abruptly  challenged,  might  have  been  startled  into  some  avowal. 
For  then,  would  not  her  course  have  been   clear  enough  ?     But 


AN    APPEAL.  365 

now  she  was  thrown  back  on  her  former  pcr[ilexity,  witli  only 
the  one  certainty  present  to  her  mind — the  certainty  of  the  dan- 
ger that  confronted  her  lover. 

"  My  dear  young  hidy,"  lie  said,  "  it  is  useless  for  you  to  ask 
what  that  service  is,  for  I  shall  refuse  to  answer  you.  15ut  I  as- 
sure you  that  you  have  my  deepest  sympathy,  and  I  have  seen 
a  good  deal  of  suffering  from  similar  causes.  I  do  not  seek  to 
break  into  your  confidence,  but  1  think  1  understand  your  posi- 
tion ;  vou  will  believe  me  that  it  is  with  no  liirht  heart  that 
I  must  repeat  the  word  impossible.  Need  I  reason  with  you? 
Need  I  point  out  to  you  that  there  is  scarcely  any  one  in  the 
world  whom  wc  might  select  for  a  dangerous  duty  who  would 
not  have  some  one  who  would  suffer  on  his  account?  Who  is 
without  some  tie  of  affection  that  must  be  cut  asunder — no  mat- 
ter with  what  pain — when  the  necessity  for  the  sacrifice  arises  ? 
You  are  one  of  the  unhappy  ones ;  you  must  be  brave ;  you  must 
try  to  forget  your  suffering,  as  thousands  of  wives  and  sweethearts 
and  daughters  have  had  to  forget,  in  thinking  that  their  relatives 
and  friends  died  in  a  good  cause." 

Her  heart  was  proud  and  indignant  no  longer;  it  had  grown 
numbed.     The  air  from  the  sea  felt  cold. 

"I  am  helpless,  signore,"  she  murmured;  "I  do  not  know 
what  that  cause  is.  I  do  not  know  what  justification  you  have 
for  taking  this  man's  life." 

He  did  not  answer  that.     He  said, 

"  Perhaps,  indeed,  it  is  not  those  who  are  called  on  to  sacrifice 
their  life  for  the  general  ^-ood  who  suffer  most.  Tliev  can  con- 
sole  themselves  with  thinking  of  the  results.  It  is  their  friends 
— those  dearest  to  them  —  who  suffer,  and  who  many  a  time 
would  no  doubt  be  glad  to  become  their  substitutes.  It  is  true 
that  we — that  is,  that  many  associations — recognize  the  principle 
of  the  vicarious  performance  of  duties  and  punishments ;  but  not 
any  one  yet  has  permitted  a  woman  to  become  substitute  for  a 
man." 

"  What  made  you  think  of  that,  signore  ?"  she  asked,  regarding 
him. 

"  I  liave  known  some  cases,"  ho  said,  evasively,  "  where  such 
an  offer,  I  think,  would  have  been  made." 

"  It  could  not  be  accepted  ?" 

"  Oh  no. " 


366  SUNRISE. 

"  Not  even  by  tlie  power  that  is  the  greatest  in  Europe  ?"  she 
said,  bitterly — "  that  is  invincible  and  all-generous  ?  Oh,  signore, 
you  are  too  modest  in  your  pretensions !  And  the  Berezolyis — 
they  have  done  nothing,  then,  in  former  days  to  entitle  them  to 
consideration  ;  they  are  but  as  anybody  in  the  crowd  who  might 
come  forward  and  intercede  for  a  friend ;  they  have  no  old  asso- 
ciates, then,  and  companions  in  this  Society,  that  they  cannot  have 
this  one  thing  granted  them — that  they  cannot  get  this  one  man's 
life  spared  to  him !  Signore,  your  representatives  mistake  your 
powers ;  more  than  that,  they  mistake  the  strength  of  your  mem- 
ory, and  your  friendship !" 

The  red  face  of  the  bullet-headed  general  grew  redder  still,  but 
not  with  anger, 

"  Signorina,"  he  said,  evidently  greatly  embarrassed,  "  you  hu- 
miliate me.     You — you  do  not  know  what  you  ask — " 

He  had  led  her  back  to  the  garden-seat ;  they  had  both  sat 
down ;  he  did  not  notice  how  her  bosom  was  struggling  with 
emotion. 

"  You  ask  me  to  interfere — to  commit  an  act  of  injustice — " 

"  Oh,  signore,  signore,  this  is  what  I  ask !"  she  cried,  quite 
overcome ;  and  she  fell  at  his  feet,  and  put  her  clasped  hands 
on  his  knees,  and  broke  into  a  wild  fit  of  crying ;  "  this  is  what  I 
ask  of  you,  signore — this  is  what  I  beg  from  you  on  my  knees 
— I  ask  you  to  give  to  me  the  life  of — of  my  betrothed !" 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands ;  her  frame  was  shaken  with 
her  sobs. 

"  Little  daughter,"  said  he,  greatly  agitated,  "  rise ;  come,  re- 
main here  for  a  few  moments ;  I  wish  to  speak  to  your  mother 
— alone.     Natalie !" 

The  elder  woman  accompanied  him  a  short  distance  across  the 
lawn  ;  they  stood  by  the  fountain. 

"  By  Heaven,  I  would  do  anything  for  the  child  !"  he  said,  rap- 
idly; "but  you  see,  dear  friend,  how  it  is  impossible.  Look  at 
the  injustice  of  it.  If  we  transferred  this  duty  to  another  per- 
son, what  possible  excuse  could  we  make  to  him  whom  we  might 
choose  ?" 

He  was  looking  back  at  the  girl. 

"  It  will  kill  her,  Stefan,"  the  mother  said. 

"  Others  have  suffered  also." 

The  elder  woman  seemed  to  collect  herself  a  little. 


AN    APPEAL.  3G7 

"  But  I  told  you  we  liad  not  said  evcrythinfy  to  you.  The  poor 
cliild  is  in  despair;  slic  lias  not  thouglit  of  all  the  reasons  that 
induced  us  to  come  to  you.  Stefan,  you  remember  my  cousin 
Konrad?" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  remember  Konrad  well  enough,"  said  the  general, 
absently,  for  he  was  still  regarding  the  younger  Natalie,  who  sat 
on  the  bench,  her  hands  clasped,  her  head  bent  down.  "  Poor 
fellow,  he  came  to  a  sad  end  at  last ;  but  he  always  carried  his 
life  in  his  hands,  and  with  a  gay  heart  too." 

"But  you  remember,  do  you  not,  something  before  that?"  the 
mother  said,  with  some  color  coming  into  her  face.  "  You  re- 
member how  my  husband  had  him  chosen — and  I  myself  ap- 
pealed— and  you,  Stefan,  you  were  among  the  first  to  say  that 
the  Society  must  inquire — " 

"  Ah,  but  that  was  diflEerent,  Natalie.  You  know  why  it  was 
that  that  commission  had  to  be  reversed." 

"Do  I  know?  Yes.  What  else  have  I  had  to  think  about 
these  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  since  my  child  was  separated 
from  me?"  she  said,  sadly.  "And  perhaps  I  have  grown  suspi- 
cious ;  perhaps  I  liave  grown  mad  to  think  that  what  has  hap- 
pened once  might  happen  again." 

"  What  ?"  he  said,  turning  his  clear  blue  eyes  suddenly  on  her. 

She  did  not  Hinch. 

"  Consider  the  circumstances,  Stefan,  and  say  whether  one  has 
no  reason  to  suspect.  The  Englishman,  this  Mr.  Brand,  loves 
Natalie ;  she  loves  him  in  return ;  my  husband  refuses  his  con- 
sent to  the  marriage ;  and  yet  they  meet  in  opposition  to  his 
wishes.  Then  there  is  another  thing  that  I  cannot  so  well  ex- 
plain, but  it  is  something  about  a  request  on  my  husband's  part 
that  Mr.  Brand,  who  is  a  man  of  wealth,  should  accept  a  certain 
office,  and  give  over  his  property  to  the  funds  of  the  Society." 

"  I  understand  perfectly,"  her  companion  said,  calmly.    "  Well  ?" 

"Well,  Mr.  Brand,  thinking  of  Natalie's  future,  refuses.  But 
consider  this,  Stefan,  that  it  had  been  hinted  to  him  before 
that  in  case  of  his  refusal,  he  might  be  sent  to  America  to  remain 
there  for  life." 

"  I  perceive,  my  old  friend,  that  you  are  reading  in  your  own 
interpretations  into  an  ordinary  matter  of  business.     However — " 

"But  his  refusal  was  immediately  followed  by  that  arrange- 
ment.    He  was  ordered  to  go  to  America.     My  husband,  no 


368  SUNRISE. 

douLt,  considered  tliat  that  -would  effectually  separate  him  and 
Xatalie — " 

"  Again  you  are  putting  in  your  own  interpretation." 

"  One  moment,  Stefan.  My  child  is  brave ;  she  thought  an 
injustice  was  being  done;  she  thought  it  was  for  her  sake  that 
her  lover  was  being  sent  away,  and  then  she  spoke  frankly :  she 
said  she  would  go  with  him." 

"  Yes  ?"     He  was  now  listening  with  more  interest. 

"  You  perceive,  then,  my  dear  friend,  my  husband  was  thwart- 
ed in  every  way.  Then  it  was,  and  quite  suddenly,  that  he  re- 
versed this  arrangement  about  America,  and  there  fell  on  Mr. 
Brand  this  terrible  thing.  Knowing  what  I  know,  do  you 
not  think  I  had  fair  cause  for  suspicion?  And  when  Natalie 
said,  '  Oh,  there  are  those  abroad  who  will  remove  this  great 
trouble  from  us,'  then  I  said  to  myself,  'At  all  events,  the  So- 
ciety does  not  countenance  injustice ;  it  will  see  that  right  has 
been  done.' " 

The  face  of  this  man  had  grown  very  grave,  and  for  some  time 
he  did  not  speak, 

"  I  see  what  you  suggest,  Natalie,"  he  said  at  length.  "  It  is 
a  serious  matter.  I  should  have  said  your  suspicions  were  idle — 
that  the  thing  was  impossible — but  for  the  fact  that  it  has  oc- 
curred before.  Strange,  now,  if  old ,  whose  wisdom  and  fore- 
sight the  world  is  beginning  to  recognize  now,  should  be  proved 
to  be  wise  on  this  point  too,  as  on  so  many  others.  He  used  al- 
ways to  say  to  us :  '  When  once  you  find  a  inan  unfaithful,  nev- 
er trust  him  after.  When  once  a  man  has  allowed  himself  to 
put  his  personal  advantage  before  his  duty  to  such  a  society  as 
yours,  it  shows  that  somewhere  or  other  there  is  in  him  the  leav- 
en of  a  self-seeker,  which  is  fatal  to  all  societies.  Impose  the 
heaviest  penalties  on  such  an  offence ;  cast  him  out  when  you 
have  the  opportunity.'  It  would  be  strange,  indeed ;  it  would 
be  like  fate ;  it  would  appear  as  though  the  thing  were  in  the 
blood,  and  must  come  out,  no  matter  what  warning  the  man  may 
have  had  before.  You  know,  Natalie,  what  your  husband  had  to 
endure  for  his  former  lapse  ?" 

She  nodded  her  head'. 

For  some  time  he  was  again  silent,  and  there  was  a  deeper  air 
of  reflection  on  his  face  than  almost  seemed  natural  to  it,  for  he 
looked  more  of  a  soldier  than  a  thinker. 


AN    APPEAL.  3G9 

"  If  there  were  any  informality,"  he  said,  ahnost  to  himself, 
"  in  the  proccedin2;s,  one  niitrht  have  just  cause  to  intervene. 
But  yoiir  husband,  my  Natalie,"  he  continued,  addressinjf  lier 
directly,  "  is  well  trusted  by  us.  He  has  done  us  long  and  faith- 
ful service.  "We  should  be  slow  to  put  any  slight  on  him,  espe- 
cially that  of  suspicion." 

"That,  Stefan,"  said  Xatalic's  mother,  with  courage,  "  is  a 
small  matter,  surely,  compared  with  the  possibility  of  your  letting 
this  man  go  to  his  death  unjustly.  You  would  countenance,  then, 
an  act  of  private  revenge  ?  That  is  the  use  you  would  let  the 
powers  of  your  Society  be  put  to?  That  is  not  what  Janecki, 
what  Rausch,  what  Falevitch  looked  forward  to." 

The  taunt  was  quite  lost  on  him ;  he  was  calmly  regarding 
Natalie.  She  had  not  stirred.  After  that  one  outburst  of  de- 
spairing appeal  there  was  no  more  for  her  to  say  or  to  do.  She 
could  wait,  mutely,  and  hear  what  the  fate  of  her  lover  was 
to  be. 

"  Unfortunately,"  said  the  general,  turning  and  looking  up  at 
the  vast  pink  frontage  of  the  villa,  "  there  are  no  papers  here 
that  one  can  appeal  to.  I  only  secured  the  temporary  use  of  the 
villa,  as  being  a  more  fitting  place  than  some  to  receive  the 
signorina  your  daughter.  But  it  is  possible  the  Secretary  may 
remember  somethini"-:  he  has  a  o'ood  memorv.  Will  vou  excuse 
me,  Natalie,  for  a  few  moments  ?" 

He  strode  away  toward  the  house.  The  mother  went  over  to 
her  daughter,  and  put  a  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Courage,  Natalushka  !  You  must  not  despair  yet.  Ah,  my 
old  friend  Stefan  has  a  kind  heart :  there  were  tears  in  his  eves 
when  he  turned  away  from  your  appeal  to  him.  He  does  not 
forget  old  associates." 

Von  Zoesch  almost  immediately  returned,  still  looking  preoc- 
cupied.    He  drew  Natalie's  mother  aside  a  few  steps,  and  said, 

"This  much  I  may  tell  you,  Natalie;  in  the  proceedings  four 
were  concerned  —  your  husband,  Mr.  Brand,  Beratinsky,  Reitzei. 
What  do  yon  know  of  these  last  two  ?" 

"  I  ?     Alas,  Stefan,  I  know  nothing  of  them  I" 

"And  we  here  little.  Tlioy  are  of  your  husband's  appoint- 
ment. I  may  also  tell  you,  Natalie,  that  the  Secretary  is  also  of 
ray  opinion,  that  it  is  very  unlikely  your  husband  would  be  so 
audacious  as  to  repeat  his  offence  of  former  years,  by  conspiring 

16* 


370  SUNRISE. 

to  fix  this  duty  on  this  man  to  serve  his  own  interests.  It  would 
be  too  audacious,  unless  his  temper  had  outrun  his  reason  alto- 
gether." 

"  But  you  must  remember,  Stefan,"  she  said,  eagerly,  "  that 
there  was  no  one  in  England  who  knew  that  former  story.  He 
could  not  imagine  that  I  was  to  be,  unhappily,  set  free  to  go  to 
my  daughter — that  I  should  be  at  her  side  when  this  trouble  fell 
on  her — " 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  he,  gently  interrupting  her,  "  you  have 
appealed  to  us :  we  will  inquire.  It  will  be  a  delicate  affair.  If 
there  has  been  any  complicity,  any  unfairness,  to  summon  these 
men  hither  would  be  to  make  firmer  confederates  of  them  than 
ever.     If  one  could  get  at  them  separately,  individually — " 

He  kept  pressing  his  white  mustache  into  his  teeth  with  his 
forefinger. 

"  If  Calabressa  were  not  such  a  talker,"  he  said,  absently. 
"  But  he  has  ingenuity,  the  feather-brained  devil." 

"  Stefan,  I  could  trust  everything  to  Calabressa,"  she  said. 

"  In  the  mean  time,"  he  said,  "  I  will  not  detain  you.  If  you 
remain  at  the  same  hotel  we  shall  be  able  to  communicate  with 
you.     I  presume  your  carriage  is  outside  ?" 

"  It  is  waiting  for  us  a  little  way  off." 

He  accompanied  them  into  the  tessellated  court-yard,  but  not 
to  the  gate.  He  bade  good-bye  to  his  elder  friend;  then  he 
took  the  younger  lady's  hand  and  held  it,  and  regarded  her. 

"  Figliuola  mia,"  he  said,  with  a  kindly  glance,  "  I  pity  you  if 
you  have  to  suffer.  We  will  hope  for  better  things :  if  it  is  im- 
possible, you  have  a  brave  heart." 

When  they  had  left  he  went  up  the  marble  staircase  and  along 
the  empty  corridor  until  he  reached  a  certain  room. 

"  Granaglia,  can  you  tell  me  where  our  friend  Calabressa  may 
happen  to  be  at  this  precise  moment  ?" 

"  At  Brindisi,  I  believe,  Excellenza." 

"  At  Brindisi  still.  The  devil  of  a  fellow  is  not  so  impatient 
as  I  had  expected.  Ah,  well.  Have  the  goodness  to  send  for 
him,  friend  Granaglia,  and  bid  him  come  with  speed." 

"  Most  willingly,  Excellenza." 


AN    EMISSARY.  371 


CHAPTER  XLTX. 

AN    EMISSARY. 

One  warm,  still  afternoon  Calabressa  was  walking  quicldy  along 
the  crowded  quays  of  Naples,  when  he  was  beset  by  a  more  than 
usually  importunate  beggar  —  a  youth  of  about  twelve,  almost 
naked. 

"  Something  for  bread,  signore — for  the  love  of  God — my  fa- 
ther taken  to  heaven,  my  mother  starving — bread,  signore — " 

"  To  the  devil  with  you  !"  said  Calabressa. 

"  May  you  burst !"  replied  the  polite  youth,  and  he  tried  to  kick 
Calabrcssa's  legs  and  make  off  at  the  same  time. 

This  feat  he  failed  in,  so  that,  as  he  was  departing,  Calabressa 
hit  him  a  cuff  on  the  side  of  the  head  which  sent  him  rolling. 
Then  there  was  a  howl,  and  presently  a  universal  tumult  of  wom- 
en, calling  out,  "Ah,  the  German!  ah,  the  foreigner!"  and  so 
forth,  and  drawing  threateningly  near.  Calabressa  sought  in  his 
pockets  for  a  handful  of  small  copper  coins,  turned,  threw  them 
high  in  the  air,  and  did  not  stay  to  watch  the  effect  of  the  shower 
on  the  heads  of  the  women,  but  walked  quietly  away. 

However,  in  thus  suddenly  turning,  he  had  caught  sight — even 
with  his  near-sighted  eyes  —  of  an  unwholesome-looking  young 
man,  pale,  clean-shaven,  with  bushy  black  hair,  whom  he  recog- 
nized. He  appeared  to  pay  no  attention,  but  walked  quickly  on. 
Taking  one  or  two  unnecessary  turnings,  he  became  convinced 
that  the  young  man,  as  he  had  suspected,  was  following  him ; 
then,  without  more  ado,  and  even  without  looking  behind  him,  he 
set  out  for  his  destination,  which  was  Posilipo. 

In  due  course  of  time  he  besjan  to  ascend  the  wooded  hill  with 
its  villas  and  walls  and  cactus-hedges.  At  a  certain  turning,  where 
he  could  not  be  observed  by  any  one  behind  him,  he  turned  sharp 
off  to  the  left,  and  stood  behind  a  wooden  gate;  a  couple  of  min- 
utes afterward  the  young  man  caiue  along,  more  rapidly  now,  for 
he  no  doubt  fancied  that  Calabressa  had  disappeared  ahead. 

Calabressa  stepped  out  from  his  hiding-place,  went  after  him, 


372  SUNRISE. 

and  tapped  him  on  tlie  slioulder.  He  turned,  stared,  and  endeav- 
ored to  appear  angry  and  astonished. 

"  Oh  yes,  to  be  sure,"  said  Cahibressa,  with  cahii  sarcasm  ;  "  at 
your  disposition,  signore.  So  we  were  not  satisfied  with  selHng 
photographs  and  pebbles  to  the  English  on  board  the  steamer; 
we  want  to  get  a  little  Judas  money  ;  we  sell  ourselves  to  the 
weasels,  the  worms,  the  vermin — " 

"  Oh,  I  assure  you,  signore — "  the  shaven-faced  youth  exclaim- 
ed, inuch  more  humbly. 

"  Oh,  I  assure  you  too,  signore,"  Calabressa  continued,  facetious- 
ly. "And  you,  you  poor  innocent,  you  have  not  been  with  the 
weasels  six  weeks  when  you  think  you  will  try  your  nose  in  track- 
ing me.     Body  of  Bacchus,  it  is  too  insolent !" 

"  I  assure  you,  signore — " 

"  Now,  behold  this,  my  friend  ;  we  must  give  children  like  you 
a  warning.  If  you  had  been  a  little  older,  and  not  quite  so  fool- 
ish, I  should  have  had  you  put  on  the  Black  List  of  my  friends 
the  Camorristi — you  understand  ?  But  you — we  will  cure  you 
otherwise.  You  know  the  Englishman's  yacht  that  has  come  into 
the  Great  Harbor — " 

"  Signore,  I  beg  of  you — " 

"  Beg  of  the  devil !"  said  Calabressa,  calmly.  "  Between  the 
Englishman's  yacht  and  the  Little  Mole  you  will  find  a  schooner 
moored — her  name,  La  Svezia  ;  do  not  forget — La  Svezia.  To- 
morrow you  will  go  on  board,  of  her,  ask  for  the  captain,  go 
down  below,  and  beg  him  to  be  so  kind  as  to  give  you  twelve 
stripes — " 

"  Signore — " 

"Another  word,  mouchard,  and  T  make  it  twenty.  He  will  give 
you  a  receipt,  which  you  will  sign,  and  bring  to  me ;  otherwise, 
down  goes  your  name  on  the  list.  Which  do  you  prefer?  Oh, 
we  will  teach  some  of  you  young  weasels"  a  lesson  !  I  have  the 
honor  to  wish  you  a  good  morning." 

Calabressa  touched  his  hat  politely,  and  walked  on,  leaving  the 
young  man  petrified  with  rage  and  fear. 

By-and-by  he  began  to  walk  more  leisurely  and  with  more  cir- 
cumspection, keeping  a  sharp  lookout,  as  well  as  his  near-sighted 
eyes  allowed,  on  any  passer-by  or  vehicle  he  happened  to  meet. 
At  length,  and  with  the  same  precautions  he  had  used  on  a  for- 
mer occasion,  he  entered  the  grounds  of  the  villa  he  had  sought 


AN    EMISSARY.  373 

out  in  the  company  of  Gathornc  Edwards,  and  made  liis  way  up 
to  the  fountain  on  the  little  plateau.  But  now  his  message  had 
been  previously  prepared ;  he  dropped  it  into  the  receptacle  con- 
cealed beneath  the  lip  of  the  fountain,  and  then  descended  the 
steep  little  terraces  until  he  got  round  to  the  entrance  of  the 
grotto. 

Instead  of  passing  in  by  this  cleft  in  tlie  rockwork,  however, 
be  found  awaiting  him  there  the  person  who  had  summoned  hiin 
— the  so-called  General  Von  Zoesch.  Calabressa  was  somewhat 
startled,  but  he  said,  "  Your  humble  servant,  Excellenza,"  and 
removed  his  cap. 

"  Keep  your  hat  on  your  head,  friend  Calabressa,"  said  the 
otlier,  good-naturedly  ;  "  you  arc  as  old  as  I  am." 

Ho  seated  himself  on  a  projecting  ledge  of  the  rockwork,  and 
motioned  to  Calabressa  to  do  likewise  on  the  other  side  of  the 
entrance.  They  were  completely  screened  from  observation  by 
a  mass  of  olive  and  fig  trees,  to  say  nothing  of  the  far-strotching 
orange  shrubbery  beyond. 

"The  Council  have  paid  you  a  high  compliment,  my  Calabres- 
sa," the  general  said,  plunging  at  once  into  the  matter.  "  They 
have  resolved  to  intrust  you  with  a  very  difficult  mission." 

"  It  is  a  great  honor." 

"  You  won't  have  to  risk  your  nock,  wliich  will  no  doubt  dis- 
appoint you,  but  you  will  have  to  show  us  whether  there  is  the 
stuflE  of  a  diplomatist  in  you." 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,  Excellenza,"  Calabressa  said,  confidently, 
"  one  can  be  a  havard  at  times,  for  amusement,  for  nonsense  ;  ;md 
one  can  at  times  be  silent  when  there  is  necessity." 

*'  You  know  of  the  affair  of  Zaccatelli.  The  agent  has  been 
found,  as  we  desired,  in  England.  I  understand  you  know  him  ; 
his  name  is  Brand." 

Calabressa  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"  Excellenza,  do  you  know  what  you  have  said?  You  pierce 
my  heart.  Why  he  of  all  those  in  England  ?  He  is  the  betroth- 
ed of  Natalie's  daughter — the  Natalie  Berezolyi,  Excellenza,  who 
married  Ferdinand  Lind — " 

"  I  know  it,"  said  the  other,  calmly.  "  I  have  seen  the  young 
lady.     She  is  a  beautiful  child." 

"She  is  more  than  that — she  is  a  bcautiful-souled  child!"  said 
Calabressa,  in  great  agitation  ;  "  and  she  has  a  tender  heart.     I 


374  SUNRISE. 

tell  yon  it  ■n'ill  kill  her,  Excellenza !  Oh,  it  is  infamous  !  it  is  not 
to  be  thought  of !"  He  jumped  to  his  feet  and  spoke  in  a  rapid, 
excited  way,  "  I  say  it  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  I  appeal — I, 
Calabressa — to  the  honorable  the  members  of  the  Council :  I  say 
that  I  am  ready  to  be  his  substitute — they  cannot  deny  me — I 
appeal  to  the  laws  of  the  Society — " 

"  Calm  yourself — calm  yourself,"  said  the  general ;  but  Cala- 
bressa would  not  be  calm. 

"  I  will  not  have  my  beautiful  child  have  this  grief  put  upon 
her ! — you,  Excellenza,  will  help  my  appeal  to  the  Council — they 
cannot  refuse  me — what  use  am  I  to  anybody  or  myself  ?  I  say 
that  the  daughter  of  my  old  friend  Natalie  shall  not  have  her 
lover  taken  from  her ;  it  is  I,  Calabressa,  who  claim  to  be  his 
substitute !" 

"  Friend  Calabressa,  I  desire  you  to  sit  down  and  listen.  The 
story  is  brief  that  I  have  to  tell  you.  This  man  Brand  is  chosen 
by  the  usual  ballot.  The  young  lady  does  not  know  for  what 
duty,  of  course,  but  believes  it  will  cost  him  his  life.  She  is  in 
trouble ;  she  recollects  your  giving  her  some  instructions ;  what 
does  she  do  but  start  off  at  once  for  Naples,  to  put  her  head  right 
into  the  den  of  the  black  bear  Tomraaso  !" 

"  Ah,  the  brave  little  one  !  She  did  not  forget  Calabressa  and 
the  little  map,  then  ?" 

"  I  have  seen  her  and  her  mother." 

"Her  mother,  also ?     Here,  in  Naples,  now ?" 

*'  Yes." 

"  Great  Heaven  !  What  a  fool  I  was  to  come  through  Naples 
and  not  to  know — bat  I  was  thinking  of  that  little  viper." 

"  You  will  now  be  good  enough  to  listen,  my  Calabressa." 

"  I  beg  your  Excellency's  pardon  a  thousand  times." 

"  It  appears  that  both  mother  and  daughter  are  beset  with  the 
suspicion  that  this  duty  has  been  put  upon  their  English  friend 
Jby  unfair  means.  At  first  I  said  to  myself  these  suspicions  were 
foolish ;  they  now  appear  to  me  more  reasonable.  You,  at  all 
events,  are  acquainted  with  the  old  story  against  Ferdinand  Lind  ; 
you  know  how  he  forfeited  his  life  to  the  Society ;  how  it  was 
given  back  to  him.  You  would  think  it  impossible  he  would  risk 
such  another  adventure.  Well,  perhaps  I  wrong  him  ;  but  there 
is  a  possibility  ;  there  are  powerful  reasons,  I  can  gather,  why  he 
should  wish  to  get  rid  of  this  Englishman." 


AN    EMISSAKV.  375 

Calabrcssa  said  notliing  now,  but  he  was  greatly  excited. 

"  We  had  been  nrii'ing  liiin  about  money,  Calabressa  inio — that 
I  will  explain  to  you.  It  has  been  coming  in  slowest  of  all  from 
England,  the  richest  of  the  countries,  and  just  when  we  had  so 
much  need.  Then,  again,  tliere  is  a  vacancy  in  the  Council,  cind 
Lind  has  a  wish  that  way.  "What  happens?  He  tries  to  induce 
the  Englishman  to  take  an  oflicersliip  and  give  us  his  fortune; 
the  Englishman  refuses;  he  says  then,  'Part  from  my  daughter, 
and  go  to  America.'  The  daughter  says, '  If  he  goes,  I  follow.' 
You  perceive,  my  friend,  that  if  this  story  is  true,  and  it  is  con- 
secutive and  minute  as  I  received  it,  there  was  a  reason  for  our 
colleao-uc  Lind  to  be  ano:rv,  and  to  be  desirous  of  making  it  ccr- 
tain  that  this  Englishman  who  had  opposed  him  should  not  have 
his  daughter." 

"  I  perceive  it  well,  Excellenza.     Meanwhile  ?" 

"  Meanwhile,  that  is  all.  Only,  when  an  old  friend  —  when 
one  who  has  such  claims  on  our  Society  as  a  Berezolyi  naturally 
has — comes  and  tells  you  such  a  story,  you  listen  with  attention 
and  respect.  You  may  believe,  or  you  may  not  believe ;  one  pi'e- 
fers  not  to  believe  when  the  matter  touches  upon  the  faith  of  a 
colleague  who  has  been  trustworthy  for  many  years.  But  at  the 
same  time,  if  the  Council,  being  appealed  to,  and  being  anxious 
above  all  things  that  no  wrong  should  be  done,  were  to  find  an 
agent — prudent,  silent,  cautious — who  might  be  armed  with  plen- 
ary powers  of  pardon,  for  example,  supposing  there  were  an  ac- 
complice to  be  bribed — if  the  Council  were  to  commission  such 
a  one  as  you,  my  Calabressa,  to  institute  inquiries,  and  perhaps  to 
satisfy  those  two  appellants  that  no  injustice  has  been  done,  you 
would  undertake  the  task  with  diligence,  wnth  a  sense  of  respon- 
sibility, would  you  not  ?" 

"With  joy  —  with  a  full  heart,  Excellenza !"  Calabressa  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Oh  no,  not  at  all — with  prudence  and  disinterestedness;  with 
calmness  and  no  prejudice ;  and,  above  all,  with  a  resolution  to 
conceal  from  our  friend  and  colleague  Lind  that  any  slight  of 
suspicion  is  being  put  upon  him." 

"  Oh,  you  can  trust  me,  Excellenza !"  Calabrcssa  said,  eagerly. 
"  Let  me  do  this  for  the  sake  of  the  sweetheart  of  my  old  age 
— that  is  that  bcautiful-souled  little  one ;  and  if  I  cannot  bring 
her  peace  and  security  one  way — mind,  I  go  without  prejudice 


376 


SUNRISE. 


— I  swear  to  you  I  go  ■nithont  bias — I  will  harm  no  one  even  in 
intention — but  this  I  say,  that  if  1  fail  that  way,  there  is  another." 

"You  have  seen  the  two  men,  Beratinsky  and  Reitzci,  who 
were  of  the  ballot  along  with  Lind  and  the  Eno-lishman.  To  me 
they  are  but  names.     Describe  them  to  me." 

"  Beratinsky,"  said  Calabressa,  promptly,  "  a  bear — surly,  pig- 
headed ;  Reitzci,  a  fop — sinuous,  petted." 

"Which  would  be  the  more  easily  startled,  for  example?"  the 
tall  man  said,  with  a  smile. 

"  Oh,  your  Excellency,  leave  that  to  me,"  Calabressa  answered. 
"Give  me  no  definite  instructions:  am  I  not  a  volunteer? — can  T 
not  do  as  I  please,  always  with  the  risk  that  one  may  knock  me 
over  the  head  if  I  am  impertinent  ?" 

"  Well,  then,  if  we  leave  it  to  your  discretion,  friend  Calabressa, 
to  your  ingenuity,  and  your  desire  to  have  justice  without  bias, 
have  you  money  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,  Excellenza." 

"  The  Secretary  Granaglia  will  communicate  you  with  this  even- 
ing.    You  can  start  at  once?" 

"By  the  direct  train  to-morrow  morning  at  seven,  Excellenza." 
Then  he  added,  "  Oh,  the  devil !" 

"  What  now  ?" 

"  There  was  a  young  fellow,  Excellenza,  committed  the  impru- 
dence of  dogging  my  footsteps  this  afternoon.  I  know  him.  I 
stopped  him  and  referred  him  to  the  captain  of  the  schooner  La 
Svezia:  he  was  to  bring  me  the  receipt  to-morrow." 

«"  Never  mind,"  said  the  general,  laughing ;  "  we  will  look  after 
him  when  he  goes  on  board.  Now  do  you  understand,  friend 
Calabressa,  the  great  delicacy  of  the  mission  the  Council  have 
intrusted  to  you  ?  You  must  be  patient,  sure,  unbiassed ;  and  if, 
as  I  imagine,  Lind  and  you  were  not  the  best  of  friends  at  one 
time  in  vour  life,  you  must  forget  all  that.  You  are  not  going 
as  the  avenger  of  his  daughter;  you  are  going  as  the  minister  of 
justice — only  you  have  power  behind  you ;  that  you  can  allow 
to  be  known  indirectly.     Do  you  understand  ?" 

"  It  is  as  clear  as  the  noonday  skies.    Confide  in  me,  Excellenza." 

The  other  rose. 

"  Use  speed,  my  Calabressa.     Farewell  1" 

"One  word,  Excellenza.  If  it  is  not  too  great  a  favor,  the 
hotel  where  my  beautiful  Natalushka  and  her  mother  are  staying  ?" 


AN    EMISSARY.  :U7 

The  other  gave  him  the  name  of  tlie  liotol ;  and  Calabrcssa, 
saluting  him  rt'spectfuUy,  departed,  making  his  way  down  through 
the  terraces  of  fruit-trees  under  tlie  clear  twilight  skies. 

Calabrcssa  walked  back  to  Naples,  and  to  the  hutel  indicated, 
which  was  near  the  Castello  dell'  Ovo.  No  sooner  had  the  hotel 
porter  opened  for  him  the  big  swinging  doors  than  he  recollected 
that  he  did  not  know  for  whom  he  ought  to  ask;  but  at  this  mo- 
ment Natalie  came  along  the  corridor,  dressed  and  ready  to  go  out. 

"  My  little  daughter  !"  he  exclaimed,  taking  her  by  both  hands, 
"did  not  I  say  you  would  soon  find  me  when  there  was  need?" 

"  ^^'ill  you  come  up-stairs  and  sec  my  mother,  Signor  Cala- 
brcssa ?"  said  she.  "  You  know  why  she  and  I  arc  together  now? 
— my  grandfather  is  dead." 

"Yes,  I  will  go  and  see  your  mother,"  said  he,  after  a  second: 
she  did  not  notice  the  strange  expression  of  his  face  during  that 
brief  hesitation. 

There  was  a  small  sitting-room  between  The  two  bedrooms; 
Natalie  conducted  him  into  it,  and  went  into  the  adjoining  cham- 
ber for  her  mother.  A  minute  after  these  two  friends  and  com- 
panions of  former  days  met.  They  held  each  other's  hand  in  si- 
lence for  a  brief  time. 

"  My  hair  was  not  so  gray  when  you  last  saw  me,"  the  worn- 
faced  woman  said,  at  length,  with  a  smile. 

Calabressa  could  not  speak  at  all. 

*'  Mother,"  the  girl  said,  to  break  in  on  this  painful  embarrass- 
ment, "  you  have  not  seen  Signor  Calabressa  for  so  long  a  time. 
Will  he  not  stay  and  dine  with  us?  the  tahle-cVhote  is  at  half- 
past  six." 

"  Not  the  tahle-dliote,  my  little  daughter,"  Calabressa  said, 
quickly.  "  But  if  one  were  permitted  to  remain  here,  for  ex- 
ample— " 

"  Oh  yes,  certainly." 

"There  are  many  things  1  wish  to  speak  about;  and  so  little 
time.     To-morrow  morning  I  start  for  England." 

"  For  England  ?" 

"  Most  certainly,  little  daughter.     And  you  have  a  message, . 
perhaps,  for  me  to  carry  ?     Oh,  you  may  let  it  be  cheerful,"  he 
said,  with  his  usual  gay  optimism,     "  I  tell  you — I  myself,  and  I 
do  not  boast — let  it  be  cheerful !    AVhat  did  I  say  to  you  ?     You 
are  in  trouble;  I  said  to  you,  count  upon  having  friends!" 


378  SUNRISE. 

Calabressa  did  stay  ;  and  they  had  a  tind  of  meal  in  this  room  ; 
and  there  was  a  great  deal  to  talk  over  between  the  two  old 
friends.  But  on  all  matters  referring  to  the  moment  he  preserved 
a  resolute  silence.  He  was  not  going  to  talk  at  the  very  outset. 
He  was  going  to  England — that  was  all. 

But  as  he  was  bidding  good-bye  to  Natalie,  he  drew  her  a  step 
or  two  into  the  passage. 

"  Little  child,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice,  "  your  mother  is  suf- 
fering because  of  your  sorrow.  It  is  needless.  I  assure  you  all 
will  be  well :  have  I  spoken  in  vain  before  ?  It  is  not  for  one 
bearing  the  name  that  you  have  to  despair." 

"  Good-bye,  then,  Signor  Calabressa." 

"Au  revoir,  child:  is  not  that  better?" 


'      CHAPTER  L, 

A    WEAK     BROTHER. 


George  Brand  was  sitting  alone  in  these  rooms  of  his,  the 
lamps  lit,  the  table  near  him  covered  with  papers.  He  had  just 
parted  with  two  visitors — Molyneux  and  a  certain  learned  gentle- 
man attached  to  Owens  College — who  had  come  to  receive  his 
final  plans  and  hints  as  to  what  still  lay  before  them  in  the  north. 
On  leaving,  the  fresh-colored,  brisk-voiced  Molyneux  had  said  to 
him, 

"  Well,  Mr.  Brand,  seeing  you  so  eager  about  what  has  to  be 
done  up  there,  one  might  wonder  at  your  leaving  us  and  going 
off  pleasuring.  But  no  matter;  a  man  must  have  his  holiday; 
so  I  wish  you  a  pleasant  journey,  and  we'll  do  our  best  till  you 
come  back." 

So  that  also  was  settled.  In  fact,  he  had  brought  all  his  affairs 
up  to  a  point  that  would  enable  him  to  start  at  any  moment. 
But  about  Natalie  ?  He  had  not  heard  from  her  through  any 
channel  whatever.  He  had  not  the  least  idea  whither  she  had 
gone.  Moreover,  he  gathered  from  Reitzei  that  her  father — who, 
in  Reitzei's  opinion,  could  at  once  have  discovered  where  she  was 
— refused  to  trouble  himself  in  the  matter,  and,  indeed,  would 
not  permit  her  name  to  be  mentioned  in  his  presence. 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  with  a  sigh.     Of  what  value  to 


A    WEAK    DKOTIIKK.  379 

him  now  were  these  carefully  calculated  suggestions  about  dis- 
tricts, centres,  conveners,  and  what  not?  And  yot  he  had  appear- 
ed deeply  interested  while  his  two  visitors  were  present.  For 
the  time  being  the  old  eagerness  had  stirred  him  ;  the  pride  he 
had  taken  in  his  own  work.  But  now  that  was  passed  from  him  ; 
he  had  relinquished  his  stewardship;  and  as  he  absently  gazed 
out  into  the  black  night  before  him,  his  thoughts  drifted  far  away, 
lie  was  startled  from  his  reverie  by  some  one  knocking  at  the' 
door.     Immediately  after  Gathorne  Edwards  entered. 

"  Waters  said  I  should  find  you  alone,"  said  tlie  tall,  pale,  blue- 
eyed  student.     "  I  have  come  to  you  about  Kirski." 

"  Sit  down.     Well  ?" 

"  It's  a  bad  business,"  he  said,  taking  a  chair,  and  looking 
rather  gloomy  and  uncomfortable.  "  He  has  taken  to  drink 
badly.  I  have  been  to  him,  talked  to  liim,  but  I  have  no  influence 
over  him,  apparently.  I  thought  perhaps  you  raight  do  some- 
thing with  him." 

"  Why,  I  cannot  even  speak  to  him  !" 

"  Oh,  he  is  accustomed  to  make  much  out  of  a  few  words; 
and  I  would  go  with  you." 

"But  what  is  the  occasion  of  all  this?  How  can  he  have 
taken  to  drink  in  so  short  a  time?" 

"A  man  can  drink  himself  into  a  pretty  queer  state  in  a  very 
short  time  when  he  sets  his  mind  to  it,"  Edwards  said.  "  He 
has  given  up  his  work  altogether,  and  is  steadily  boozing  away 
the  little  savings  he  had  made.  He  has  gone  back  to  his  blood 
and  kill,  too ;  wants  some  one  to  go  with  him  to  murder  that 
ffllow  out  in  Russia  who  first  of  all  took  his  wife,  and  then  beat 
him  and  set  the  dogs  on  him.  The  fact  is,  Calabressa's  cure  has 
gone  all  to  hits." 

"  It  is  a  pitv.  The  unfortunate  wretch  has  had  cnouo-h  trou- 
ble.     But  what  is  the  cause  of  it?" 

"  It  is  rather  diflicult  to  explain,"  said  Edwards  with  some  em- 
barrassment. "  One  can  only  guess,  for  his  brain  is  muddled, 
and  he  maunders.  You  know  Calabressa's  flowery,  poetical  in- 
terpretation. It  was  Miss  Lind.  in  fact,  who  had  worked  a  mir- 
acle. Well,  there  was  something  in  it.  She  was  kind  to  him, 
after  he  had  been  cuffed  about  Europe,  and  a  sort  of  passion 
of  gratitude  took  possession  of  him.  Then  he  was  led  to  believe 
at  that  time  that  —  that  he  might  be  of  service  to  her  or  licr 


380  SUNRISE. 

friends,  and  he  gave  np  liIs  projects  of  revenge  altogether — he 
was  ready  for  any  sacrifice — and,  in  fact,  there  was  a  project — " 

Edwards  glanced  at  his  companion ;  but  Brand  happened  at 
that  moment  to  be  lookino;  out  of  the  window. 

"  Well,  you  see,  all  that  fell  through ;  and  he  had  to  come 
back  to  England  disappointed ;  then  there  was  no  Calabressa  to 
keep  him  up  to  liis  resolutions;  besides  that,  he  found  out — how, 
I  do  not  know — tliat  Miss  Lind  had  left  London." 

"  Oh,  he  found  that  out  ?" 

"  x\pparently.  And  he  says  he  is  of  no  further  use  to  any- 
body ;  and  all  he  wants  is  to  kill  the  man  Michaieloff,  and  then 
make  an  end  of  himself." 

Brand  rose  at  once. 

"  We  must  go  and  see  the  unfortunate  devil,  Edwards.  His 
brain  never  was  steady,  you  know,  and  I  suppose  even  two  or 
three  days'  hard  drinking  has  made  him  wild  again.  And  just 
as  I  had  prepared  a  little  surprise  for  him !" 

"What?"  Edwards  asked,  as  he  opened  the  door. 

"I  have  made  him  a  little  bequest  that  would  have  produced 
him  about  twenty  pounds  a  year,  to  pay  his  rent.  It  will  be  no 
kindness  to  give  it  to  him  until  we  see  him  straight  again." 

But  Edwards  pushed  the  door  to  again,  and  said,  in  a  low 
voice, 

"Of  course,  Mr.  Brand,  you  must  know  of  the  Zaccatelli  af- 
fair?" 

Brand  regarded  him,  and  said,  calmly, 

"  I  do.  There  are  five  men  in  England  who  know  of  it ;  you 
and  I  are  two  of  them." 

"Well,"  said  Edwards,  eagerly,  "  if  such  a  thing  were  deter- 
mined on,  wouldn't  it  have  been  better  to  let  this  poor  wretch 
do  it?  He  would  have  gloried  in  it;  he  had  the  enthusiasm  of 
the  martyr  just  then  ;  he  thought  he  was  to  be  allowed  to  do 
something  that  would  make  Miss  Lind  and  her  friends  forever 
ffrateful  to  him." 

"  And  who  put  it  into  his  head  that  Miss  Lind  knew  anything 
about  it  ? — Calabressa,  I  suppose." 

Edwards  colored  slightly. 

"  Well,  yes— " 

"And  it  was  Calabressa  who  intrusted  such  a  secret  as  that 
to  a  maniac — " 


A    WEAK    BUOTIIER.  381 

"  Pardon  mc,  Kil•^ski  never  knew  specifically  what  lay  before 
liim ;  but  he  was  ready  for  anything.  For  my  own  part,  I  was 
lieartily  ghid  when  tliey  sent  him  back  to  Enghmd.  I  did  not 
wish  to  have  any  hand  in  such  a  business,  however  indirectly ; 
and,  indeed,  I  hope  they  have  abandoned  the  whole  project  by 
this  time." 

"  It  miglit  be  wiser,  certainly,''  said  Brand,  with  an  indiffer- 
ent air. 

"If  they  go  on  with  it,  it  will  make  a  fearful  noise  in  Eu- 
rope," said  Edwards,  contemplatively.  "  The  assassination  of  a 
cardinal !  Well,  his  life  has  been  scandalous  enough — but  still, 
liis  death,  in  such  a  way — " 

"It  will  horrify  people, will  it  not?"  Brand  said,  calmly;  "and 
his  murderer  will  be  execrated  and  howled  at  throughout  Europe, 
no  doubt?" 

"  AVcll,  yes ;  you  see,  who  is  to  know  the  motives  ?" 

"  There  won't  be  a  single  person  to  say  a  single  word  for 
him,"  said  Brand,  absently.  "  It  is  an  enviable  fate,  isn't  it,  for 
some  wretched  mortal  ?  Xo  matter,  Edwards ;  we  will  go  and 
look  up  this  fellow  Kirski  now." 

They  went  out  into  the  night — it  was  cold  and  drizzling — and 
made  their  way  up  into  Soho.  They  knocked  at  the  door  of  a 
shabby -looking  house ;  and  Kirski's  huidlady  made  her  appear- 
ance. She  was  very  angry  when  his  name  was  mentioned ;  of 
course  he  was  not  at  home;  they  would  find  him  in  some  public- 
house  or  other — the  animal ! 

"  But  he  pays  his  rent,  doesn't  he?"  Brand  remonstrated. 

Oh  yes,  he  paid  his  rent.  But  she  didn't  like  a  wild  beast  in 
the  house.  It  was  decent  lodgings  she  kept ;  not  a  Worabwell's 
Menagerie. 

"  I  am  sure  he  gives  you  no  trouble,  ma'am,"  said  Edwards, 
who  had  seen  something  of  the  meek  and  submissive  way  the 
Russian  conducted  himself  in  his  lodgings. 

This  she  admitted,  but  promptly  asked  how  she  was  to  know 
she  mightn't  have  her  throat  cut  some  night?  And  what  was 
the  use  of  her  talking  to  him,  when  lie  didn't  know  two  words  of 
a  Christian  language  ? 

They  gathered  from  this  that  the  good  woman  had  been  lect- 
uring her  docile  lodger,  and  had  been  seriously  hurt  because  of 
his  inattention.     However,  she  at  last  consented  to  give  them 


382  SUNRISE. 

the  name  of  the  particular  public-house  in  which  he  was  likely  to 
be  found,  ancl  they  again  set  oli  in  quest  of  him. 

They  found  him  easily.  He  was  seated  in  a  corner  of  the 
crowded  and  reeking  bar-room  by  himself,  nursing  a  glass  of 
gin-and-water  with  his  two  trembling  hands.  When  they  enter- 
ed, he  looked  up  and  regarded  them  with  bleared,  sunken  eyes, 
evidently  recognized  them,  and  then  turned  away  sullenly. 

"  Tell  him  I  am  not  come  to  bully  him,"  said  Brand,  quickly. 
"  Tell  him  I  am  come  about  some  work.  I  want  a  cabinet  made 
by  a  first-class  workman  like  himself." 

Edwards  went  forward  and  put  his  hand  on  the  man's  shoulder 
and  spoke  to  him  for  some  time ;  then  he  turned  to  Brand. 

"  He  says,  '  No  use ;  no  use.'  He  cannot  work  any  more. 
They  won't  give  him  help  to  kill  Pavel  Michaieloff.  He  wishes 
to  die." 

"Ask  him,  then,  what  the  young  lady  who  gave  him  her  por- 
trait will  think  of  him  if  she  hears  he  is  in  this  condition.  Ask 
him  how  he  has  dared  to  bring  her  portrait  into  a  place  like  this." 

When  this  was  conveyed  to  Kirski,  he  seemed  to  arouse  him- 
self somewhat ;  he  even  talked  eagerly  for  a  few  seconds ;  then 
he  turned  away  again,  as  if  he  did  not  wish  to  be  seen. 

"  He  says,"  Edwards  continued,  "  that  he  has  not,  that  he 
would  not  bring  that  portrait  into  any  such  place.  He  was 
afraid  it  might  be  found — it  might  be  taken  from  him.  He 
made  a  small  casket  of  oak,  carved  by  his  own  hands,  and  lined 
it  with  zinc ;  he  put  the  photograph  in  it,  and  hid  himself  in  the 
trees  of  St.  James's  Park — at  least,  I  imagine  that  St.  James's 
Park  is  what  he  means — at  night.  Then  he  buried  it  there.  He 
knows  the  place.  When  he  has  killed  Michaieloff  he  will  come 
back  and  dig  it  up." 

"The  poor  devil  —  his  brain  is  certainly  going,  drink  or  no 
drink.     What  is  to  be  done  with  him,  Edwards?" 

"  He  says  the  young  lady  has  gone  away.  He  cares  for  noth- 
ing. He  is  of  no  use.  He  despairs  of  getting  enough  money  to 
take  him  back  to  Ptussia." 

After  a  great  deal  of  persuasion,  ho-wever,  they  got  him  to 
leave  the  public-house  with  them  and  return  to  his  lodgings. 
They  got  him  some  tea  and  some  bread-and-butter,  and  made 
him  swallow  both.  Then  Edwards,  under  his  friend's  instruc- 
tions, proceeded  to  impress  on  Kirski  that  the  young  lady  was 


A    WEAK    BROTHER.  383 

only  away  from  London  for  a  short  time;  that  she  would  be 
greatly  distressed  if  she  were  to  hear  lie  had  been  misconducting 
himself ;  that,  if  he  returned  to  his  work  on  the  following  morn- 
ing, he  would  find  that  his  master  would  overlook  bis  absence ; 
and  that,  finally,  he  was  to  abandon  his  foolish  notions  about 
going  to  Russia,  for  he  would  find  no  one  to  assist  him ;  where- 
as, on  the  other  hand,  if  he  went  about  proclaiming  that  he  was 
about  to  commit  a  crime,  he  would  be  taken  by  the  police  and 
shut  up.  All  this,  and  a  great  deal  more,  they  tried  to  impress 
on  him;  and  Edwards  promised  to  call  the  next  evening  and  see 
how  lie  was  getting  on. 

It  was  late  when  Brand  and  Edwards  again  issued  out  into  the 
wet  night;  and  Edwards,  having  promised  to  post  a  line  to  Kirs- 
ki's  employers,  so  that  they  should  get  it  in  the  morning,  said 
good-bye,  and  went  off  to  his  own  lodgings.  Brand  walked  slow- 
ly home  through  the  muddy  streets,  lie  preferred  the  glare  and 
the  noise  to  the  solitude  of  his  own  rooms.  lie  even  stood  aim- 
lessly to  watch  a  theatre  come  out;  the  people  seemed  so  care- 
less and  joyous — calling  to  each  other — making  feeble  jokes — 
passing  away  under  their  umbrellas  into  the  wet  and  shining 
darkness. 

But  at  length,  without  any  definite  intention,  he  found  himself 
at  the  foot  of  the  little  thoroughfare  in  which  he  lived ;  and  he 
was  about  to  open  the  door  with  his  latch-key  when  out  of  the 
dusk  beyond  there  stepped  forth  a  tal\  figure.  He  was  startled, 
it  is  true,  by  the  apparition  of  this  tall,  white-haired  man  in  the 
voluminous  blue  cloak,  the  upturned  hood  of  which  half  conceal- 
ed his  face,  and  he  turned  with  a  sort  of  instinct  of  anger  to  face 
him. 

"  Monsieur  mon  frere,  you  have  arrived  at  last !"  said  the 
stranger,  and  instantly  he  recognized  in  the  pronunciation  of  the 
French  the  voice  of  Calabrcssa. 

"  What !"  he  said  ;  "  Calabressa  ?'' 

The  other  put  a  finger  on  his  arm. 

"  Hush !"  he  said.  "  It  is  a  great  secret,  my  being  here ;  I 
confide  in  you.  I  would  not  wait  in  your  rooms — my  faith,  no ! 
for  I  said  to  myself, '  What  if  he  brings  home  friends  who  will 
know  me,  who  will  ask  what  the  devil  Calabressa  is  doing  in  this 
country.' " 

Brand  had  withdrawn  his  hand  from  the  lock. 


384  SUNRISE. 

"  Calabrcssa,"  lie  said,  qiiicldy,  "  you,  if  anybody  knows,  must 
know  where  Natalie  and  her  niuther  are.     Tell  me !" 

"I  will  directly;  but  may  I  point  out  to  you,  my  dear  Mon- 
sieur Brand,  that  it  rains — that  we  might  go  inside?  Oh  yes, 
certainly,  I  will  tell  you  when  we  can  say  a  word  in  secret,  in 
comfort.  But  this  devil  of  a  climate !  What  should  I  have 
done  if  I  had  not  bought  myself  this  cloak  in  Paris  ?  In  Paris 
it  was  cold  and  Avet  enough ;  but  one  had  nothing  like  what  you 
have  here.     Sapristi !  ray  fingers  are  frozen." 

Brand  hurried  him  up-stairs,  put  him  into  an  easy-chair,  and 
stirred  up  the  fire. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  impatiently — "  now,  my  dear  Calabressa,  your 
news !" 

Calabressa  pulled  out  a  letter. 

"  The  news — voila  !" 

Brand  tore  open  the  envelope ;  these  were  the  contents : 

"Dearest, — This  is  to  adjure  you  not  to  leave  England  for 
the  present — not  till  you  hear  from  me  —  or  until  we  return. 
Have  patience,  and  hope.  You  are  not  forgotten.  My  mother 
sends  you  her  blessing.  Your  Betrothed." 

"  But  there  is  no  address  !"  he  exclaimed.     "  Where  are  they  ?" 

"  Where  are  they  ?  It  is  no  secret,  do  you  see  ?  They  are  in 
Naples." 

"  In  Naples !" 

"  Oh,  I  assure  you,  my  dear  friend,  it  is  a  noble  heart,  a  brave 
heart,  that  loves  you.  Many  a  day  ago  I  said  to  her,  '  Little 
child,  when  you  are  in  trouble,  go  to  friends  who  will  welcome 
you ;  say  you  are  the  daughter  of  Natalie  Berezolyi ;  say  to 
them  that  Calabressa  sent  you.'  And  you  thought  she  was  in 
no  trouble !  Ah,  did  she  not  tell  me  of  the  pretty  home  you 
had  got  for  the  poor  mother  who  is  my  old  friend  ?  did  she  not 
tell  me  how  you  thought  they  were  to  be  comfortable  there,  and 
take  no  heed  of  anything  else?  But  you  were  mistaken.  You 
did  not  know  her.  She  said,  'My  betrothed  is  in  danger:  I  will 
take  Calabressa  at  his  word :  before  any  one  can  hinder  me,  or 
interfere,  I  will  go  and  appeal,  in  the  name  of  my  family,  in  the 
name  of  myself  !'     Ah,  the  brave  chihl !" 

"  But  appeal  to  whom  ?"  said  Brand,  breathlessly. 


A    WEAK    BROTIIEK.  385 

"To  the  Council,  my  friend  I"  said  Calabressa  with  exultation. 

"  But  gracious  licavcns !"  Brand  cried,  with  his  Iiand  nervously 
clutcliing  the  arm  of  his  chair,  "  is  the  secret  betrayed,  then  ? 
Do  they  think  I  will  shelter  myself  behind  a  woman  ?" 

"  Slie  could  betray  no  secret,"  Calabressa  said,  triumphantly, 
"  slic  herself  not  knowing  it,  do  you  not  perceive  ?  But  she 
could  speak  bravely !" 

"And  the  result?" 

"  Who  knows  what  that  may  be  ?  In  the  mean  time,  this  is 
tlie  result — T  am  here  !" 

At  another  moment  this  assumption  of  dignity  would  have 
been  ludicrous;  but  Brand  took  no  heed  of  the  manner  of  his 
companion  ;  his  heart  was  beating  wildly.  And  even  when  his 
reason  forced  him  to  see  how  little  he  could  expect  from  this  in- 
tervention— when  he  remembered  what  a  decree  of  the  Council 
was,  and  how  irrevocable  the  doom  he  liad  himself  accepted — 
still  the  thought  uppermost  in  his  mind  was  not  of  his  own  safe- 
ty or  danger,  but  rather  of  her  love  and  devotion,  her  resolve  to 
rescue  him,  her  quick  and  generous  impulse  that  knew  nothing 
of  fear.  He  pictured  her  to  himself  in  Naples,  calling  upon  this 
nameless  and  secret  power,  that  every  man  around  him  dreaded,  to 
reverse  its  decision  !  And  then  the  audacity  of  her  bidding  him 
hope !  He  could  not  hope ;  he  knew  more  then  she  did.  But 
his  heart  was  full  of  love  and  of  gratitude  as  he  thought  of  her. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  Calabressa,  lowering  his  voice,  "  my  er- 
rand is  one  of  great  secrecy.  I  have  a  commission  which  I  can- 
not altogether  explain  to  you.  But  in  the  mean  time  you  will 
be  so  good  as  to  give  me — in  extenso,  with  every  particular — the 
little  history  of  how  you  were  appointed  to — to  undertake  a  cer- 
tain duty." 

"Unfortunately,  I  cannot,"  Brand  said,  calmly;  "these  are 
things  one  is  not  permitted  to  talk  about." 

"  But  I  must  insist  on  it,  my  dear  friend." 

"  Then  I  must  insist  on  refusing  you." 

"You  arc  trustworthy.  No  matter:  here  is  something  which 
I  think  will  remove  your  suspicions,  my  good  friend — or  shall 
we  not  rather  say  your  scruples  V 

He  took  from  his  pocket-book  a  card,  and  placed  it  soraewliat 
ostentatiously  on  the  table.  Brand  examined  it,  and  then  stared 
at  Calabressa  in  surprise. 

17 


386  SUNRISE. 


"  You  come  with  the  authority  of  the  Council  ?" 
"  By  the  goodness  of  Heaven,"  Calabressa  exclaimed,  with  a 
laugh,  "  you  have  arrived  at  the  truth  this  time !" 


CHAPTER  LI. 

THE      CONJURER. 


There  was  no  mistaking  the  fact  that  Calabressa  had  come 
armed  with  ample  authority  from  the  Council,  and  yet  it  was 
with  a  strange  reluctance  that  Brand  forced  himself  to  answer 
the  questions  that  Calabressa  proceeded  to  put  to  him.  He  had 
already  accepted  his  doom.  The  bitterness  of  it  was  over.  He 
would  rather  have  let  the  past  be  forgotten  altogether,  and  him- 
self go  forward  blindly  to  the  appointed  end.  Why  these  need- 
less explanations  and  admissions  ? 

Moreover,  Calabressa's  questions,  which  had  been  thought  over 
during  long  railway  journeys,  were  exceedingly  crafty.  They 
touched  here  and  there  on  certain  small  points,  as  if  he  were 
building  up  for  himself  a  story.  But  at  last  Brand  said,  by  way 
of  protest, 

"  Look  here,  Calabressa.  I  see  you  are  empowered  to  ask  me 
any  questions  you  like — and  I  am  quite  willing  to  answer — about 
the  business  of  the  Council.  But  really,  don't  you  see,  I  would 
rather  not  speak  of  private  matters.  What  can  the  Council 
want  to  know  about  Natalie  Lind  ?  Leave  her  out  of  it,  like  a 
good  fellow." 

"  Oh  yes,  my  dear  Monsieur  Brand,"  said  Calabressa,  with  a 
smile,  "leave  her  out  of  it,  truly,  when  she  has  gone  to  the  Coun- 
cil ;  when  the  Council  have  said,  '  Child,  you  have  not  appealed 
to  us  for  nothing ;'  when  it  is  through  her  that  I  have  travelled 
all  through  the  cold  and  wet,  and  am  now  sitting  here.  Remem- 
ber this,  my  friend,  that  the  beautiful  Natalushka  is  now  a — 
what  do  you  call  it?  —  a  iimnV  (Calabressa  put  this  word  in 
English  into  the  midst  of  his  odd  French),  "and  a  ivard  of  a 
sufficiently  powerful  court,  I  can  assure  you,  monsieur !  There- 
fore, I  say,  I  cannot  leave  the  beautiful  child  out.  She  is  of  im- 
portance to  me;  why  am  I  here  otherwise?  Be  considerate,  my 
friend  :  it  is  not  impertinence ;  it  is  not  curiosity." 


THE    CONJUKEll.  387 

Then  he  proceeded  with  liis  task ;  getting,  in  a  roundabout, 
cunning,  shrewd  way,  at  a  pretty  fair  version  of  what  liad  oc- 
curred. And  he  was  exceedingly  circumspect.  He  endeavored, 
by  all  sorts  of  circumlocutions,  to  hide  from  Brand  the  real  drift 
of  his  inquiry.  He  would  betray  suspicion  of  no  one.  His  man- 
ner was  calm,  patient,  almost  indifferent.  All  this  time  Brand's 
thoughts  were  far  away.  He  was  speaking  to  Calabrcssa,  but  he 
was  thinking  of  Naples. 

But  when  they  came  to  Brand's  brief  description  of  wliat  took 
place  in  Lisle  Street  on  the  night  of  the  casting  of  the  lot,  Cala- 
brcssa became  greatly  excited,  though  he  strove  to  appear  perfect- 
ly calm. 

"  You  are  sure,"  he  said,  quickly,  ''  that  was  precisely  what 
happened  ?" 

"As  far  as  I  know,"  said  Brand,  carelessly.  "But  why  go 
into  it?     If  I  do  not  complain,  why  should  any  one  else?" 

"  Did  I  say  that  any  one  complained  ?"  observed  the  astute 
Calabrcssa. 

"Then  why  should  any  one  wish  to  interfere?  I  am  satisfied. 
You  do  not  mean  to  say,  Calabrcssa,  that  any  one  over  there 
thinks  that  I  am  anxious  to  back  out  of  what  I  have  undertaken 
— that  T  am  going  down  on  my  knees  and  begging  to  be  let  off  ? 
^^'ell,  at  all  events,  Natalie  does  not  think  that,"  he  added,  as  if 
it  did  not  matter  much  what  any  other  thought. 

Calabrcssa  was  silent;  but  his  eyes  were  eager  and  bright,  and 
he  was  quickly  tapping  the  palm  of  his  left  hand  with  the  fore- 
finger of  the  right.  Then  he  regarded  Brand  with  a  sharp,  in- 
quisitive look.     Then  he  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"Good-night,  my  friend,"  he  said,  hurriedly. 

But  Brand  rose  also,  and  sought  to  detain  him. 

"  No,  no,  my  good  Calabrcssa,  you  are  not  going  yet ;  you 
have  kept  me  talking  for  your  amusement;  now  it  is  your  turn. 
You  have  not  yet  told  me  about  Natalie  and  her  mother." 

"  They  are  well — they  are  indeed  well,  I  assure  you,"  said  Cal- 
abressa,  uneasily.  He  was  clearly  anxious  to  get  away.  By  this 
time  he  had  got  hold  of  his  cloak  and  swung  it  round  his  shoulders. 

"  Calabrcssa,  sit  down,  and  tell  me  something  about  Natalie. 
What  made  her  undertake  such  a  journey  ?  Is  she  troubled  ?  Is 
she  sad  ?  I  thought  her  life  was  full  of  interest  now,  her  mother 
being  with  her." 


388  SUNRISE. 

Calabi'Gssa  Lad  got  his  cap,  and  had  opened  the  door. 

"Another  time,  dear  Monsieur  Brand,  1  will  sit  down  and  tell 
you  all  about  the  beautiful,  brave  child,  and  my  old  friend  her 
mother.  Yes,  yes — another  time  —  to-morrow — next  day.  At 
present  one  is  overwhelmed  with  affairs,  do  you  see?" 

So  saying,  he  forced  Brand  to  shake  hands  with  him,  and  went 
out,  shutting  the  door  behind  him. 

But  no  sooner  had  he  got  into  the  street  than  the  eager,  talk-* 
ative,  impulsive  nature  of  the  man,  so  long  confined,  broke  loose. 
He  took  no  heed  that  it  was  raining  hard.  He  walked  fast ;  he 
talked  aloud  to  himself  in  his  native  tongue,  in  broken  interjec- 
tional  phrases ;  occasionally  he  made  use  of  violent  gestures, 
which  were  not  lessened  in  their  effect  by  the  swaying  cape  of 
his  cloak. 

"Ah,  those  English — those  English!"  he  was  excitedly  saying 
— "such  children  ! — blue,  clear  eyes  that  see  nothing — the  devil ! 
why  should  they  meddle  in  such  affairs?  To  play  at  such  a 
game! — fool's  mate;  scholar's  mate;  asses  and  idiots'  mate — they 
have  scarcely  got  a  pawn  out,  and  they  are  wondering  what  they 
Avill  do,  when  whizz  !  along  comes  the  queen,  and  she  and  the 
bishop  have  finished  all  the  fine  combinations  before  they  were 
ever  begun  !  And  you,  you  others,  imps  of  hell,  to  play  that  old 
foolish  game  again  !  But  take  care,  my  friends,  take  care  ;  there 
is  one  watching  you,  one  waiting  for  you,  who  does  not  speak, 
but  who  strikes !  Ah,  it  is  a  pretty  game ;  you,  you  sullen  brute ; 
you,  you  fop  and  dandy ;  but  when  you  are  sitting  silent  round 
the  board,  behold  a  dagger  flashes  down  and  quivers  into  the 
wood !  No  wonder  your  eyes  burn  !  you  do  not  know  whence 
it  has  come?     But  the  steel-blade  quivers;  is  it  a  warning?" 

He  laughed  aloud,  but  there  were  still  omnibuses  and  cabs  in 
the  street ;  so  he  was  not  heard.  Indeed,  the  people  who  were 
on  the  pavement  were  hurrying  past  to  get  out  of  the  rain,  and 
took  no  notice  of  the  old  albino  in  the  voluminous  cloak. 

"  Natalushka,"  said  he,  quite  as  if  he  were  addressing  some 
one  before  him,  "  do  you  know  that  I  am  trudging  through  the 
mud  of  this  infernal  city  all  for  you  ?  And  you,  little  sybarite, 
are  among  the  fine  ladies  in  the  reading-room  at  the  hotel,  and 
listening  to  music,  and  the  air  all  scented  around  you.  Never 
mind;  if  only  I  had  a  little  bird  that  could  fly  to  you  with  a 
message  —  ah,  would  you  not  have  pleasant  dreams  to-night? 


THE    CONJURER.  389 

Did  I  not  tell  you  to  rely  on  Calabressa  ?  Ue  cliatters  to  you ; 
he  tries  to  amuse  you;  but  he  is  not  always  Policinella.  Xo, 
not  always  Policinella:  sometimes  he  is  silent  and  cunning; 
sometimes  —  what  do  you  think?  —  he  is  a  conjurer.  Oh  yes, 
you  are  not  seen,  you  are  not  heard ;  but  when  you  have  them 
round  the  board,  whirr !  comes  the  gleaming  blade  and  quivers 
in  the  wood !  You  look  round ;  the  guilty  one  shakes  with  the 
palsy ;  his  wits  go ;  his  startled  tongue  confesses.  Then  you 
laugh  ;  you  say,  'That  is  well  done ;'  you  say, '  Were  they  wrong 
in  giving  this  affair  to  Calabressa?'" 

Now,  whether  it  was  that  his  rapid  walking  helped  to  relieve 
him  of  this  over-excitement,  or  whether  it  was  that  the  soaking 
rain  began  to  make  him  uncomfortable,  he  was  much  more  staid 
in  demeanor  when  he  got  up  to  the  little  lane  in  Oxford  Street 
where  the  Culturverein  held  it  meetings.  Of  course,  he  did  not 
knock  and  demand  admission.  lie  stopped  some  way  down  the 
street,  on  the  other  side,  where  he  found  shelter  from  the  rain  in 
a  door-way,  and  whence  he  could  readily  observe  any  one  coming 
out  from  the  hall  of  the  Yerein.  Then  he  succeeded  in  lighting 
a  cigarette. 

It  was  a  miserable  business,  this  waiting  in  the  cold,  damp 
night  air ;  but  sometimes  he  kept  thinking  of  how  he  would  ap- 
proach Ileitzei  in  the  expected  interview ;  and  sometimes  he 
thought  of  Natalie ;  and  again,  with  his  chilled  and  dripping  fin- 
gers he  would  manage  to  light  a  cigarette.  Again  and  again  the 
door  of  the  hall  was  opened,  and  this  or  the  other  figure  came 
out  from  the  glare  of  the  gas  into  the  dark  street;  but  so  far  no 
Reitzei.     It  was  now  nearly  one  in  the  morning. 

Finally,  about  a  quarter  past  one,  the  last  batch  of  boon  com- 
panions came  out,  and  the  lights  within  were  extinguished.  Cal- 
abressa followed  this  gay  company,  who  were  laughing  and  jok- 
ing despite  the  rain,  for  a  short  way ;  but  it  was  clear  that  nei- 
ther Beratinsky  nor  Ruitzei  was  among  them.  Then  he  turned, 
and  made  his  way  to  his  own  lodgings,  where  he  arrived  tired, 
soaked  through,  but  not  apparently  disheartened. 

Next  morning  he  was  up  betimes,  and  at  a  fairly  early  hour 
walked  along  to  Coventry  Street,  where  he  took  up  his  station  at 
the  east  corner  of  Rupert  Street,  so  that  he  could  see  any  one 
going  westward,  liimself  unseen.  Here  he  was  more  successful. 
lie  had  not  been  there  ten  minutes  when  Reitzei  passed.     Cala- 


390  SUNRISE. 

bressa  hastened  after  liiin,  overtook  lihn,  and  tapped  liim  on  tlie 
shoulder. 

"Ah,  Calabressa!"  said  Reitzei,  surprised,  but  in  noway  dis- 
concerted. 

"  I  wish  to  spealc  with  you,"  said  Calabressa,  himself  a  little 
as^itated,  thouo-h  he  did  not  show  it. 

"  Certainly  ;  come  along.     Mr.  Lind  will  arrive  soon." 

"  No,  alone.     I  wish  to  speak  with  you  alone." 

Calabressa  looked  around.  The  only  place  of  shelter  he  saw 
was  a  rather  shabby  restaurant,  chiefly  used  as  a  supper-room, 
and  at  this  moment  having  the  appearance  of  not  being  yet  woke 
up.  Reitzei  was  in  a  compliant  mood.  He  suffered  himself  to 
be  conducted  into  this  place,  to  the  astonishment  of  one  or  two 
unwashed-looking  waiters,  who  were  seated  and  reading  the  pre- 
vious evening's  papers.  Calabressa  and  Reitzei  sat  down  at  one 
of  the  small  tables ;  the  former  ordered  some  coffee,  the  latter  a 
bottle  of  soda-water. 

By  this  time  Calabressa  had  collected  himself  for  the  part  he 
was  about  to  play. 

"  Well,  my  friend,"  said  he,  cheerfully,  "  what  news  ?  When 
is  Europe  to  hear  of  the  fate  of  the  Cardinal  ?" 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  know  very  little  about  it,"  said  Reitzei, 
glancing  at  him  rather  suspiciously. 

"  It  is  a  terrible  business,"  said  Calabressa,  reflectively,  "  a  de- 
cree of  the  Council.  You  would  think  that  one  so  powerful,  so 
well  protected,  would  be  able  to  escape,  would  you  not  ?  But  he 
himself  knows  better.  lie  knows  he  is  as  powerless  as  you  might 
be,  for  example,  or  myself." 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,"  said  Reitzei,  boldly,  "  he  knows  he  has  de- 
served it:  what  more?  He  has  had  his  little  fling,  now  comes 
the  settlement  of  the  score." 

"And  I  hear  that  our  friend  Brand  is  to  be  the  instrument  of 
justice  :  how  strange  !     He  has  not  been  so  long  with  us." 

"  That  is  Mr.  Lind's  affair :  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  me," 
said  Reitzei,  shortly. 

"  Well,"  said  Calabressa,  toying  with  his  coffee-cup,  "  I  hope 
I  shall  never  be  tempted  to  do  anything  that  might  lead  the 
Council  to  condemn  me.  Fancy  such  a  life;  every  moment  ex- 
pecting some  one  to  step  up  behind  you  with  a  knife  or  a  pis- 
tol, and  the  end  sure !     I  would  take  Provana's  plan.    The  poor 


THE    COXJL'KKK.  391 

(li\  il ;  as  soon  as  he  heard  he  had  been  condemned  he  could  not 
bear  living.  lie  never  tliou<;lit  of  escape :  a  few  big  stones  in 
the  pockets  of  his  coat,  and  over  he  slips  into  the  Arno.  And 
Mesentskoff:  you  remember  him?  His  only  notion  of  escape 
was  to  give  himself  up  to  the  police — twenty-five  years  in  the 
mines.     I  think  Provana's  plan  was  better." 

Reitzei  became  a  little  uneasy,  or  perhaps  only  impatient. 

"Well,  Calabrcssa,"  he  said,  "one  n)ust  be  getting  along  to 
one's  aflPairs — " 

"  Oh  yes,  yes,  truly,"  Calabrcssa  said.  "  I  only  wished  to  know 
a  little  more  about  the  Cardinal.  You  see  he  cannot  give  him- 
self up  like  Mesentskoff,  though  he  might  confess  to  a  hundred 
worse  things  than  the  Russian  ever  did.  Provana  —  well,  you 
know  the  Society  has  always  been  inexorable  with  regard  to  its 
own  officers  :  and  rightly,  too,  Reitzei,  is  it  not  so?  If  one  finds 
malversation  of  justice  among  those  in  a  high  grade,  should  not 
the  punishment  be  exemplary  ?  The  higher  the  power,  the  high- 
er the  responsibility.  You,  for  example,  arc  much  too  shrewd  a 
man  to  risk  your  life  by  taking  any  advantage  of  your  position 
as  one  of  the  officers — " 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Calabrcssa,"  the  other  said,  some- 
what hotly. 

"I  only  meant  to  say,"  Calabrcssa  observed,  carelessly,  " that 
the  punishment  for  malversation  of  justice  on  the  part  of  an  of- 
ficer is  so  terrible,  so  swift,  and  so  sure,  that  no  one  but  a  mad- 
man would  think  of  running  the  risk — " 

"Yes,  but  what  has  that  to  do  with  me?"  Reitzei  said,  angrily. 

"  Nothing,  my  dear  friend,  nothing,"  saifl  Calabrcssa,  sooth- 
inQflv.     "But  now,  about  this  selection  of  Mr.  Brand — " 

Reitzei  turned  rather  pale  for  a  second;  but  said  instantly, 
and  with  apparent  anger, 

"  I  tell  you  that  is  none  of  my  business.  Thalf  is  Mr.  Lind's 
business.     AVhat  have  I  to  do  with  it?" 

"  Do  not  be  so  impatient,  my  friend,"  said  Calabrcssa,  looking 
at  his  coffee.  "  We  will  say  that,  as  usual,  there  was  a  ballot. 
All  quite  fair.  No  man  wishes  to  avoid  his  duty.  It  is  the  sim- 
plest thing  in  the  world  to  mark  one  of  your  pieces  of  paper  with 
a  red  mark :  whoever  receives  the  marked  paper  undertakes  the 
commission.  All  is  quite  fair,  I  say.  Only  you  know,  I  dare 
say,  the  common,  the  pitiful  trick  of  the  conjurer  who  throws  a 


392  ■  SUNRISE. 

pack  of  cards  on  tlie  table,  backs  up.  You  take  one,  look  at  it 
privateh",  return  it,  and  the  cards  arc  shuffled.  Without  lifting 
the  cards  at  all  he  tells  you  that  the  one  you  selected  was  the 
eight  of  diamonds :  why  ?  It  is  no  miracle :  all  the  cards  are 
eights  of  diamonds ;  though  you,  you  poor  innocent,  do  not 
know  that.     It  is  a  wretched  trick,"  added  Calabressa,  coolly. 

Reitzei  drank  off  the  remainder  of  his  soda-water  at  a  gulp. 
He  stared  at  Calabressa  in  silence,  afraid  to  speak. 

"  My  dear  friend  Reitzei,"  said  Calabressa,  at  length  raising  his 
eyes  and  fixing  them  on  his  companion,  "  you  could  not  be  so  in- 
sane as  to  play  any  trick  like  that  ? — having  four  pieces  of  paper, 
for  example,  all  marked  red,  the  marks  under  the  paper?  You 
would  not  enter  into  any  such  conspiracy,  for  you  know,  friend 
Reitzei,  that  the  punishment  is — death  !" 

The  man  had  turned  a  ghastly  gray-green  color.  He  was  ap- 
parently choking  with  thirst,  though  he  had  just  finished  the 
soda-water.     He  could  not  speak. 

Calabressa  calmly  waited  for  him  ;  but  in  his  heart  he  was  say- 
ing, exultingly,  "i/a/  the  dagger  quivers  in  the  hoard  ;  his  eyes  are 
starting  from  his  head ;  is  it  Calabressa  or  Cagliostro  that  has 
paralyzed  him  .^" 

At  length  the  wretched  creature  opposite  him  gasped  out, 

"  Beratinsky— " 

But  he  could  say  no  more.  He  motioned  to  a  waiter  to  bring 
him  some  more  soda-water. 

"Yes, Beratinsky ?"  said  Calabressa,  calmly  regarding  the  livid 
face. 

" — has  betrayed  *us !"  he  said,  with  trembling  lips.  In  fact, 
there  was  no  fight  in  him  at  all,  no  angry  repudiation ;  he  was 
helpless  with  this  sudden  bewilderment  of  fear. 

"  Not  quite,"  said  Calabressa ;  and  he  now  spoke  in  a  low,  ea- 
ger voice.  "  It  is  for  you  to  save  yourself  by  forestalling  him. 
It  is  your  one  chance :  otherwise  the  decree ;  and  good-bye  to 
this  world  for  you  !  See — look  at  this  card — I  say  it  is  your 
only  chance,  friend  Reitzei — for  I  am  empowered  by  the  Coun- 
cil to  promise  you,  or  Beratinsky,  or  any  one,  a  free  pardon  on 
confession.  Oh,  I  assure  you  the  truth  is  clear :  has  not  one 
eyes  ?  You,  poor  devil,  you  cannot  speak :  shall  I  go  to  Bera- 
tinsky and  see  whether  he  can  speak?" 

"  What  must  I  do — what  must  I  do?"  the  other  gasped,  in  ab- 


FIAT    JUSTITIA,  393 

ject  terror.  Calabrcssa,  rcgardini^  this  exhibition  of  cowardice, 
could  iu)t  lic'li*  wuiidcriiig  how  Liiid  liad  allowed  sucli  a  creiitun- 
to  associate  with  him. 

Then  Calabressa,  sure  of  victory,  began  to  breathe  more  freely. 
Ho  assumed  a  lofty  air. 

"  Trust  in  me,  friend  Rcitzei.  I  will  instruct  you.  If  you  can 
persuade  the  Council  of  the  truth  of  your  story,  I  promise  you 
they  will  absolve  you  from  the  operations  of  a  certain  Clause 
which  you  know  of.  Meanwhile  you  will  come  to  my  lodgings 
and  write  a  line  to  Lind,  excusing  yourself  for  the  day;  then 
this  evening  I  dare  say  it  will  be  convenient  for  you  to  start  for 
Naples.  Oh,  I  assure  you,  you  owe  me  thanks :  you  did  not 
know  the  danger  you  were  in ;  liereafter  you  will  say, '  Well,  it 
was  no  other  than  Calabressa  who  pulled  me  out  of  that  quag- 
mire.' " 

A  few  minutes  thereafter  Calabressa  was  in  a  telegraph-office, 
and  this  was  the  message  he  despatched: 

"Colonna,  London :  to  Bartolotti,Vicolo  Isotta,  No.  15,  Naples, 
Ridotto  will  arrive  immediately,  colors  down.  Send  orders  for 
Luigi  and  Bassaiio  to  follow." 

"  It  is  a  bold  stroke,"  he  was  saying  to  himself,  as  he  left  the 
office, "  but  I  have  run  some  risks  in  my  time.  AVhat  is  one 
more  or  less?" 


CHAPTER  LTI. 

FIAT    JUSTITIA. 

This  scheme  of  Calabressa's  had  been  so  rapidly  conceived  and 
put  in  execution,  that  be  had  had  no  time  to  think  of  its  pos- 
sible or  certain  consequences,  in  the  event  of  his  being  success- 
ful. His  immediate  and  sole  anxiety  was  to  make  sure  of  his 
captive.  There  was  always  the  chance  that  a  frightened  and 
feeble  creature  like  Rcitzei  might  double  back ;  he  might  fly  to 
Lind  and  Beratinsk}-,  and  seek  security  in  a  new  compact ;  for 
who  could  prove  anything  if  the  three  were  to  maintain  their 
innocence.^  However,  as  Calabressa  shrewdly  perceived,  Rcitzei 
was  in  the  dark  as  to  bow  much  the  Council  knew  already. 

IT* 


394  SUNRISE. 

Moreover,  he  had  his  suspicions  of  Beratinsty.  If  there  was 
to  be  a  betrayal,  he  was  clearly  resolved  to  have  the  benefit  of 
it.  Nevertheless,  Calabressa  did  not  lose  siglit  of  him  for  a  mo- 
ment. He  took  liini  to  his,  Calabressa's,  lodgings ;  kept  assuring 
him  that  he  ought  to  be  very  grateful  for  being  thus  allowed  to 
escape ;  got  him  to  write  and  despatch  a  note  to  Lind,  excusing 
himself  for  that  day  and  the  next,  and  then  proceeded  to  give 
him  instructions  as  to  what  he  should  do  in  Naples.  These  in- 
structions, by-the-way,  were  entirely  unnecessary  ;  it  was  no  part 
of  Calabressa's  plan  to  allow  Reitzei  to  arrive  in  Naples  alone. 

After  a  mid-day  meal,  Calabressa  and  Reitzei  walked  up  to 
the  loda'inirs  of  the  latter,  where  he  got  a  few  travelling  things 
put  together.  By-and-by  they  went  to  the  railway  station,  Cala- 
bressa suggesting  that  it  was  better  for  Reitzei  to  get  away  from 
London  as  soon  as  possible.  The  old  albino  saw  his  companion 
take  his  seat  in  the  train  for  Dover,  and  then  turned  away  and 
re-entered  the  busy  world  of  the  London  streets. 

The  day  was  fine  after  the  rain ;  the  pavements  were  white 
and  dry;  he  kept  in  the  sunlight  for  the  sake  of  the  warmth; 
but  he  had  not  much  attention  for  the  sights  and  sounds  around 
him.  Now  that  this  sudden  scheme  promised  to  be  entirely  suc- 
cessful, he  could  consider  the  probable  consequences  of  that  suc- 
cess; and,  as  usual,  his  first  thought  was  about  Natalie. 

"Poor  child — poor  child!"  he  said  to  himself,  rather  sadly. 
"  How  could  she  tell  how  this  would  end  ?  If  she  saves  the  life 
of  her  lover,  it  is  at  the  cost  of  the  life  of  her  father.  The 
poor  child!  —  must  misfortune  meet  her  whichever  way  she 
turns  ?" 

And  then,  too,  some  touch  of  compunction  or  even  remorse 
entered  into  his  own  bosom.  He  had  been  so  eager  in  the  pur- 
suit; he  had  been  so  anxious  to  acquit  himself  to  the  satisfaction 
of  the  Council,  that  he  had  scarcely  remembered  that  his  success 
would  almost  certainly  involve  the  sacrifice  of  one  who  was  at 
least  an  old  colleague.  Ferdinand  Lind  and  Calaliressa  had  never 
been  the  very  best  of  friends ;  during  one  period,  indeed,  they 
had  been  rivals;  but  that  had  been  forgotten  in  the, course  of 
years,  and  what  Calabressa  now  remembered  was  that  Lind  and 
he  had  at  least  been  companions  in  the  old  days. 

"  Seventeen  years  ago,"  he  was  thinking,  "  he  forfeited  his  life 
to  the  Society,  and  they  gave  it  back  to  him.     They  will  not 


FIAT    JU8TXTIA.  395 

pardon  him  this  time.  And  who  is  to  take  the  news  to  Natalie 
and  the  beautiful  brave  child  ?  Ah,  what  will  she  say  ?  My  God, 
is  there  no  happiness  for  any  one  in  this  world  ?" 

He  was  greatly  distressed;  but  in  his  distress  he  became  des- 
perate. He  would  not  look  that  way  at  all.  He  boldly  justified 
himself  for  what  he  had  done,  and  strove  to  regard  it  with  satis- 
faction. What  if  l)oth  Lind  and  Beratinsky  were  to  suffer ;  had 
they  not  merited  any  punishment  that  might  befall  them?  Had 
they  not  compassed  the  destruction  of  an  innocent  man  ?  Would 
it  have  been  better,  then,  that  George  Brand  should  have  become 
the  victim  of  an  infamous  conspiracy  ?  Fiat  justitia  ! — no  mat- 
ter at  what  cost.  Natalie  must  face  the  truth.  Better  that  the 
guilty  should  suffer  than  the  innocent.  And  he,  Calabressa,  for 
one,  was  not  going  to  shirk  any  responsibility  for  what  might 
happen.  He  had  obeyed  the  orders  of  the  Council.  He  had 
done  his  duty  ;  that  was  enough. 

He  forced  himself  not  to  think  of  Natalie,  and  of  the  dis- 
may and  horror  with  which  she  would  learn  of  one  of  the  conse- 
quences of  her  appeal.  This  was  a  matter  between  men — to  be 
settled  by  men  :  if  the  consciences  of  women  were  tender,  it 
could  not  be  helped.  Calabressa  walked  faster  and  faster,  as  if 
he  were  trying  to  get  away  from  something  that  followed  and 
annoyed  him.  He  pretended  to  himself  that  he  was  deeply  in- 
terested in  a  shop-window  here  or  there;  occasionally  he  whis- 
tled; he  sung"Vado  a  Napoli  in  barchetta"  with  forced  gayety ; 
he  twisted  his  long  white  mustache,  and  then  he  made  his  way 
down  to  Brand's  rooms. 

Here  he  was  also  very  gay. 

"  Now,  my  dear  Monsieur  Brand,  to-day  I  liave  idleness ;  to- 
da)'  I  will  talk  to  you;  yesterday  I  could  not." 

"  Unfortunately,"  said  Brand,  "  our  positions  are  reversed  now, 
for  here  is  a  letter  from  Lind  wanting  me  to  go  up  to  Lisle 
Street.  It  seems  Reitzei  has  had  to  go  off  into  the  country, 
leaving  a  lot  of  correspondence — " 

"  You  are,  then,  on  good  terms  with  Lind  V  Calabressa  inter- 
posed, quickly. 

"  Yes  ;  why  not  ?"  said  Brand,  with  a  stare. 

"  I,  also — I  say,  why  not  ?  It  is  excellent.  Then  you  have  no 
time  for  my  chatter  f  said  Calabressa,  carelessly  regarding  the 
open  letter. 


396  SUNRISE. 

"At  least  you  can  tell  me  somctliing  about  Natalie  and  her 
mother.     Are  they  well  ?     What  hotel  are  they  at  ?" 

Calabressa  lauo-hcd. 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  friend  Monsieur  Brand,  you  say,  '  Arc  they 
well  V  AVhat  you  mean  is,  '  What  has  taken  them  to  Naples  V 
Bien,  you  are  right  to  wonder ;  you  will  not  have  to  wonder 
long.  A  little  patience;  you  will  hear  something;  do  not  be. 
surprised.  And  you  have  no  message,  for  example,  by  way  of 
reply  to  the  letter  I  brought  you  ?" 

"  You  are  returning  to  Naples,  then  ?" 

"  To-night.  I  will  take  a  message  for  you ;  if  you  have  no 
time  now",  send  it  to  me  at  Charing  Cross.  Meanwhile,  I  take 
my  leave." 

Calabressa  rose,  but  was  persuaded  to  resume  his  seat. 

"  I  see,"  said  he,  again  laughing,  "  that  you  have  a  little  time 
to  hear  about  the  two  wanderers.  Oh,  they  are  in  a  good  hotel, 
I  assure  you ;  pretty  rooms ;  you  look  over  to  Capri ;  quite  near 
you  the  Castello  dell'  Ovo ;  and  underneath  your  windows  the 
waves — a  charming  view  !  And  the  little  Natalushka,  she  has 
not  lost  her  spirits:  she  says  to  me,  'Dear  Mr.  Calabressa,  will 
you  have  the  goodness  to  become  my  champion  V  I  say  to  her, 
'Against  all  the  world!'  'Oh  no,'  she  answers,  'not  quite  so 
much  as  that.  It  is  a  man  who  sehs  agates  and  pebbles  and 
such  things ;  and  no  matter  when  I  go  out,  he  will  follow  me, 
and  thrust  himself  before  me.  Dear  Mr.  Calabressa,  I  do  not 
want  agates  and  pebbles,  and  he  is  more  importunate  than  all  the 
others  put  together;  and  the  servants  of  the  hotel  can  do  noth- 
ing with  him.'  Oh,  I  assure  you,  it  would  have  made  you  laugh 
— her  pretence  of  gravity !  I  said  nothing — not  I ;  what  is  the 
use  of  making  serious  promises  over  trifles?  But  when  I  went 
out  I  encountered  the  gentleman  with  the  agates  and  pebbles. 
'  Friend,'  said  I,  '  a  word  with  you.  Skip,  dance,  be  off  with  you 
to  the  steps  of  some  other  hotel ;  your  presence  is  not  agreeable 
here.'  *  Who  are  you  ?'  said  he,  naturally.  '  No  matter,'  said  I ; 
'  but  do  you  wish  to  be  presented  with  two  dozen  of  the  school- 
master's sweetmeats  ?'  '  Who  are  you  ?'  said  he  again.  Then  I 
took  him  by  the  ear  and  whispered  something  to  him.  By  the 
blood  of  Saint  Peter,  Monsieur  Brand,  you  should  have  heard  the 
quick  snap  of  his  box,  and  seen  the  heels  of  him  as  he  darted  off 
like  an  antelope !     I  tell  you  the  grave-faced  minx,  that  mocking 


FIAT    JUSTITIA.  397 

Nataluslika,  who  mates  fun  of  old  people  like  me — well,  she  shall 
not  any  more  be  troubled  with  ai^ates  and  pebbles !" 

"  Then  she  is  (juite  cheerful  and  hai)py  T  said  Brand,  some- 
what wondcrinf;. 

"  Sometimes,"  Calabressa  said,  more  gravely.  "  One  cannot 
always  be  anxious;  one  has  glimpses  of  hope;  then  the  spirit 
rises ;  the  eyes  laugh.  You,  for  example,  you  do  not  seem  much 
cast  down  ?'' 

Brand  avoided  his  inquisitive  look,  and  merely  said, 

"  One  must  take  things  as  one  finds  them.  There  is  no  use 
repining  over  what  happens." 

Calabressa  now  rose  and  took  his  cap ;  then  he  laid  it  down 
on  the  table  again. 

"  One  moment  before  I  go,  my  dear  Monsieur  Brand.  I  told 
you  to  expect  news;  perhaps  you  will  not  understand.  Shall  I 
show  you  something  to  help?  Regard  this:  it  is  only  a  little 
trick ;  but  it  may  help  you  to  understand  when  the  news  comes 
to  you." 

He  took  from  his  pocket  a  piece  of  white  paper,  square,  and 
with  apparently  nothing  on  it.  He  laid  it  on  the  table,  and  pro- 
duced a  red  pencil. 

"  May  I  trouble  you  for  a  small  pair  of  scissoi-s,  my  dear  friend?" 

Brand  stepped  aside  to  a  writing-desk,  and  brought  him  the 
scissors;  he  was  scarcely  thinking  of  Calabressa  at  all;  he  was 
thinking  of  the  message  he  would  send  to  Naples. 

Calabressa  slowly  and  carefully  cut  the  piece  of  paper  into 
four  squares,  and  proceeded  to  fold  these  up.  Brand  looked  on, 
it  is  true,  but  with  little  interest ;  and  he  certainly  did  not  per- 
ceive that  his  companion  had  folded  three  of  these  pieces  with 
the  under  side  inward,  the  fourth  with  the  upper  side  inward, 
while  this  last  had  the  rouo;h  ed"'cs  turned  in  a  different  direc- 
tion  from  the  other  three. 

"Now,  Mr.  Brand,"  said  Calabressa,  calmly,  "  if  one  were  draw- 
ing lots,  for  example,  what  more  simple  than  this?  I  take  one 
of  these  pieces — you  see  there  is  nothing  on  it — I  print  a  red 
cross  with  my  pencil ;  there,  it  is  folded  again,  and  they  all  go 
into  my  cap." 

"  Enough,  Calabressa,"  Brand  said,  impatiently ;  "  you  show 
me  that  30U  have  questioned  me  closely  enough.  There  is 
enough  said  about  it." 


398  SUNRISE. 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  my  dear  friend,  there  is  not,"  said  Cala- 
bressa,  politely ;  "for  this  is  what  1  have  to  say  now:  draw  one 
of  the  pieces  of  paper." 

Brand  turned  away. 

"  It  is  not  a  thing  to  be  gone  over  again,  I  tell  you ;  I  have 
liad  enough  of  it ;  let  it  rest." 

"  It  must  not  rest.     I  beg  of  you — my  friend,  I  insist — " 

He  pressed  the  cap  on  him ;  Brand,  to  get  rid  of  him,  di'cw 
one  of  the  papers  and  tossed  it  on  to  the  table.  Calabressa  took 
it  up,  opened  it,  and  showed  him  the  red  cross. 

"Yes,  you  are  again  unfortunate,  my  dear  Monsieur  Brand. 
Fate  pursues  you,  does  it  not?  But  wait  one  moment.  Will 
you  open  the  other  three  papers?" 

As  Brand  seemed  impatient,  Calabressa  himself  took  them  out 
and  opened  them  singly  before  him.  On  each  and  all  was  the 
same  red  mark. 

But  now  Brand  was  indifferent  no  longer. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Calabressa?"  he  said,  quickly. 

"  I  mean,"  said  Calabressa,  regarding  him,  "  that  one  might 
prepare  a  trick  by  which  you  would  not  have  much  chance  of 
escape." 

Brand  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"Do  you  mean  that  these  others — "  lie  could  not  complete 
the  sentence;  his  brain  was  in  a  whirl:  was  this  why  Natalie 
had  sent  him  that  strange  message  of  hope? 

Calabressa  released  himself,  and  took  liis  cap,  and  said, 

"I  can  tell  you  nothing,  my  dear  friend — nothing.  My  lips 
are  sealed  for  the  present.  But  surely  one  is  permitted  to  show 
you  a  common  little  trick  with  bits  of  paper?" 

"  But  you  must  tell  me  what  you  mean,"  said  Brand,  breath- 
lessly, and  with  his  face  still  somewhat  pale.  "  You  suggest  there 
has  been  a  trick.  That  is  why  you  have  come  from  Naples? 
What  do  you  know  ?  What  is  about  to  happen  ?  For  God's 
sake,  Calabressa,  don't  have  any  mystification  about  it :  what  is 
it  that  you  know — that  you  suspect — that  you  have  heard  ?" 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  Calabressa,  with  some  anxiety,  "  per- 
haps I  have  been  indiscreet.  I  know  nothing:  what  can  I  know  ? 
But  I  show  you  a  trick — if  only  to  prepare  you  for  any  news — 
and  you  think  it  is  very  serious.  Oh  no ;  do  not  be  too  hopeful 
— do  not  think  it  is  serious — think  it  was  a  foolish  trick — " 


FIAT    JISTITIA.  399 

And  so,  notwitlistanding  all  tliat  Brand  could  do  to  force  some 
definite  exj)Iaiiation  from  liini,  C  alabrossa  succeeded  in  getting 
away,  proiiiisitig  to  carry  to  Natalie;  any  message  lirand  iniglit 
send  in  the  evening;  and  as  for  Dratul  iiimself,  it  was  now  time 
for  him  to  go  up  to  Lisle  Street,  so  that  he  had  something  else 
to  think  of  than  idle  mystifications. 

For  this  was  how  he  took  it  in  the  end:  Calabrcssa  was  whim- 
sical, fantastic,  mysterious;  he  had  been  playing  with  the  notion 
that  Brand  had  been  entrapped  into  this  service;  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  showing  himself  how  it  miiiht  have  been  done.  The 
worst  of  it  was — had  he  been  putting  vain  hopes  into  the  mind 
of  Natalie?  Was  this  the  cause  of  her  message?  In  the  midst 
of  all  this  bewildering  uncertainty,  Brand  set  himself  to  the  work 
left  unfinished  by  Reitzei,  and  found  Ferdinand  Lind  as  pleasant 
and  friendly  a  colleague  as  ever. 

But  a  few  days  after  he  was  startled  by  being  summoned  back 
to  Lisle  Street,  after  he  had  gone  hon)e  in  the  afternoon.  lie 
found  Ferdinand  Lmd  as  calm  and  collected  as  usual,  though 
he  spoke  in  a  hard,  dry  voice.  He  was  then  informed  that  Lind 
himself  and  Bcratinsky  were  about  to  leave  London  for  a  time; 
that  the  Council  wished  Brand  to  conduct  the  business  at  Lisle 
Street  as  best  he  c<Mild  in  their  absence  ;  and  that  he  was  to  sum- 
mon to  his  aid  such  of  the  officers  of  the  Society  as  he  chose. 
He  asked  no  explanations,  and  Lind  vouchsafed  none.  There 
was  something  unusual  in  the  expression  of  the  man's  face. 

Well,  Brand  installed  himself  in  Lisle  Street,  and  got  along  as 
best  he  could  with  the  assistance  of  Gatliorne  Edwards  and  one 
or  two  others.  But  not  one  of  them,  any  more  than  himself, 
knew  what  had  happened  or  was  happening.  No  word  or  mes- 
sage of  any  kind  came  from  Calabressa,  or  Lind,  or  the  Society, 
or  any  one.  Day  after  day  Brand  got  througli  his  work  with 
patience,  but  without  interest;  only,  for  the  time  being,  these 
necessities  of  the  hour  beguiled  him  from  thinking  of  the  hide- 
ous, inevitable  thing  that  lay  aliead  in  liis  life. 

When  news  did  come,  it  was  sudden  and  terrible.  One  night 
he  and  Edwards  were  alone  in  the  rooms  in  Lisle  Street,  when  a 
letter,  sent  through  a  roundabout  channel,  was  put  into  his  hands. 
He  opened  it  carelessly,  glanced  at  the  beginning  of  it,  then  he 
uttered  an  exclamation  ;  then,  as  he  read  on,  f]dwards  noticed 
that  his  companion's  face  was  ghastly  pale,  even  to  his  lips. 


400  SUNRISE. 

"  Gracious  heavens  ! — Edwards,  read  it !"  he  said,  quite  breath- 
lessly. He  dropped  tlie  letter  on  the  table.  There  was  no  wild 
joy  at  his  own  deliverance  in  this  man's  face,  there  was  terror 
rather;  it  was  not  of  himself  at  all  he  was  thinking,  but  of  the 
death-agony  of  Natalie  Lind  when  she  should  hear  of  her  father's 
doom. 

"  Why,  this  is  very  good  news.  Brand,"  Edwards  cried,  wondei- 
ing.     "  You  are  released  from  that  afEair — " 

But  then  he  read  farther,  and  he,  too,  became  agitated. 

"  What — what  does  it  mean  ?  Lind,  Beratinsky,  Reitzei  ac- 
cused of  conspiracy — misusing  the  powers  intrusted  to  them  as 
officers  of  the  Society — Reitzei  acquitted  on  giving  evidence — 
Lind  and  Beratinsky  condemned  !" 

Edwards  looked  at  his  companion,  aghast,  and  said, 

"  You  know  what  the  penalty  is.  Brand  ?" 

The  other  nodded.  Edwards  returned  to  the  letter,  reading 
aloud,  in  detached  scraps,  his  voice  giving  evidence  of  his  aston- 
ishment and  dismay. 

"  Beratinsky,  allowed  the  option  of  undertaking  the  duty  from 
which  you  are  released,  accepts — it  is  his  only  chance,  I  suppose 
— poor  devil !  what  chance  is  it,  after  all  ?"  He  put  the  letter 
back  on  the  table.    "  W^hat  is  all  this  that  has  happened,  Brand  ?" 

Brand  did  not  answer.  He  had  risen  to  his  feet;  he  stood 
like  one  bound  with  chains ;  there  was  suffering  and  an  infinite 
pity  in  the  haggard  face. 

"  Wliy  is  not  Natalie  here?"  he  said;  and  it  was  strange  that 
two  men  so  different  from  each  other  as  Brand  and  Calabressa 
should  in  such  a  crisis  have  had  the  same  instinctive  thought. 
The  lives  and  fates  of  men  were  nothing ;  it  was  the  heart  of  a 
girl  that  concerned  them.  "  They  will  tell  her — some  of  them 
over  there — they  will  tell  her  suddenly  that  her  father  is  con- 
demned to  die  !     Why  is  she — among — among  strangers?" 

He  pulled  out  his  watch  hastily,  but  long  ago  the  night-mail 
had  left  for  Dover.  At  this  moment  the  bell  rung  below,  and  he 
started ;  it  was  unusual  for  them  to  have  a  visitor  at  such  an 
hour. 

"  It  is  only  that  drunken  fool,  Kirski,"  Edwards  said.  "  I 
asked  him  to  come  here  to-nin'ht." 


TUK    TRIAL.  401 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

THE    TRIAL. 

It  was  a  dark,  wet,  and  cold  night  when  Calabressa  felt  his 
way  down  the  gangway  loading  from  the  Admiralty  Pier  into 
the  small  Channel  steamer  that  lay  slightly  rolling  at  her  moor- 
ings. Most  of  the  passengers  who  were  already  on  board  had 
got  to  leeward  of  the  deck-cabins,  and  sat  huddled  up  there,  un- 
distinguishable  bundles  of  rugs.  For  a  time  he  almost  despaired 
of  finding  out  Pteitzei,  but  at  last  he  was  successful ;  and  he  had 
to  explain  to  this  particular  bundle  of  rugs  that  he  had  changed 
his  mind,  and  would  himself  travel  with  him  to  Naples. 

It  was  a  dirty  night  in  crossing,  and  both  suffered  consider- 
ably ;  the  difference  being  that,  as  soon  as  they  got  into  the 
smooth  waters  of  Calais  harbor,  Calabressa  recovered  himself 
directly,  whereas  Reitzei  remained  an  almost  inanimate  heap  of 
wrappings,  and  had  to  be  assisted  or  shoved  up  the  steep  gang- 
way into  the  glare  of  the  officials'  lamps.  Then,  as  soon  as  he 
had  got  into  a  compartment  of  the  railway  -  carriage,  he  rolled 
himself  up  in  a  corner,  and  sought  to  forget  his  sufferings  in 
sleep. 

Calabressa  was  walking  up  and  down  on  the  platform.  At 
length  the  bell  rung,  and  he  was  about  to  step  into  the  compart- 
ment, when  he  found  himself  preceded  by  a  lady. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  madame,"  said  he,  politely,  "  but  it  is  a 
carriage  for  smokers." 

"  And  if  one  wishes  to  smoke,  one  is  permitted — is  it  not  so  ?'' 
said  the  stranger,  cheerfully. 

Calabressa  at  once  held  open  the  door  for  her,  and  then  fol- 
lowed.    These  three  had  the  compartment  to  themselves. 

She  was  a  young  lady,  good-looking,  tall,  bright-comploxioned, 
with  brown  eyes  that  had  plenty  of  fire  in  them,  and  a  pleasant 
smile  that  showed  brilliant  teeth.  Calabressa,  sitting  opposite 
her,  judged  that  she  was  an  Austrian,  from  the  number  of  bags 


402  SUNRISE. 

and  knickkiiacks  she  had,  all  in  red  Russia  leather,  and  from  the 
number  of  trinkets  she  wore,  mostly  of  polished  steel  or  silver. 
She  opened  a  little  tortoise-shell  cigarette-case,  took  out  a  ciga- 
rette, and  gracefully  accepted  the  light  that  Calabressa  offered 
her.  By  this  time  the  train  had  started,  and  was  thundering 
through  the  night. 

The  young  lady  Avas  very  frank  and  affable ;  she  talked  to  her 
companion  opposite  —  Reitzei  being  fast  asleep  —  about  a  great 
many  things ;  she  lit  cigarette  after  cigarette.  She  spoke  of  her 
husband,  moreover ;  and  complained  that  he  should  have  to  go 
and  fight  in  some  one  else's  quarrel.  Why  could  not  ladies  who 
went  to  the  tables  at  Monte  Carlo  keep  their  temper,  that  a  per- 
fectly neutral  third  person  should  be  summoned  to  fight  a  duel 
on  behalf  of  one  of  them  ? 

"  You  are  going  to  rejoin  him,  then,  madarae?"  said  Calabressa. 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  said,  lau^'hino;.     "  I  have  rav  own  affairs." 

After  some  time,  she  said,  with  quite  a  humorous  smile, 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  hope  I  do  not  keep  you  from  sleeping.  But 
you  are  puzzled  about  me  ;  you  think  you  have  seen  me  before, 
but  cannot  tell  where." 

"  There  you  are  perfectly  right,  madame." 

"  Think  of  the  day  before  yesterday.  You  were  crossing  in 
the  steamer.  You  were  so  good  as  to  suggest  to  a  lady  on  board 
that  nearer  the  centre  of  the  vessel  would  be  safer  for  her — " 

He  stared  at  her  again.  Could  this  be  the  same  lady  who,  on 
the  day  that  he  crossed,  was  seated  right  at  the  stern  of  the  steam- 
er, her  brown  hair  flying  about  with  the  wind,  her  white  teeth 
flashing  as  she  laughed  and  joked  with  the  sailors,  her  eyes  full 
of  life  and  merriment  as  she  pitched  up  and  down  ?  Calabressa, 
before  the  paroxysms  of  his  woe  overtook  him,  had  had  the 
bravery  to  go  and  remonstrate  with  this  young  lady,  and  to  tell 
her  she  would  be  more  comfortable  nearer  the  middle  of  the 
boat ;  but  she  had  laughingly  told  him  she  was  a  sailor's  daugh- 
ter, and  was  not  afraid  of  the  sea.  Well,  this  handsome  young 
lady  opposite  certainly  laughed  like  that  other,  but  still — 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "do  I  puzzle  you  with  such  a  simple  thing? 
My  hair  was  brown  the  day  before  yesterday,  it  is  black  to-day ; 
is  that  a  sufficient  disguise?  Fardieu,  when  I  went  to  a  music- 
hall  in  London  that  same  night  to  see  some  stupid  nonsense — 
bah !  such  stupid  nonsense  I  have  never  seen  in  the  world — I 


THE    TKIAL.  403 

went  dressed  as  a  man.     Only  for  exercise,  you  perceive:  one 
docs  not  need  disguises  in  London." 

Calabrcssa  was  becoming  more  and  more  mystified,  and  slie 
saw  it,  and  her  amusement  increased, 

"  Come,  my  friend,"  she  said,  "  you  cannot  deny  that  you  also 
are  political  ?" 

"  I,  madame  ?"  said  Calabrcssa,  with  great  innocence. 

"  Oh  yes.  And  you  arc  not  on  the  side  of  the  big  battal- 
ions, eh  ?" 

"  I  declare  to  you,  madame — " 

She  glanced  at  Reitzci. 

"Your  friend  sleeps  sound.  Como,  shall  I  tell  you  something? 
You  did  not  say  a  word,  for  example,  when  you  stepped  on  shore, 
to  a  gentleman  in  a  big  cloak  who  had  a  lantern — " 

"  Madame,  I  beg  of  you  !"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  low  voice,  also 
glancing  at  Kcitzei. 

"What!"  she  said,  laughing.  "Then  you  have  the  honor  of 
the  acquaintance  of  my  old  friend  Biard?  The  rogue,  to  take  a 
post  like  that !  Oh,  I  think  my  husband  could  speak  more  frank- 
ly with  you ;  I  can  only  guess." 

"  You  are  somewhat  indiscreet,  madame,"  said  Calabrcssa, 
coldly. 

"I  indiscreet?"  she  said,  flicking  off  the  ash  of  her  cigarette 
with  a  finger  of  the  small  gloved  hand.  Then  she  said,  with 
mock  seriousness,  "  How  can  one  be  indiscreet  with  a  friend  of 
the  good  man  Biard  ?  Come,  I  will  give  you  a  lesson  in  sincer- 
ity. My  husband  is  gone  to  fight  a  duel,  I  told  you ;  yes,  but 
his  enemy  is  a  St.  Petersburg  general  who  belonged  to  the  Third 
Section.  They  should  not  let  Russians  play  at  Monte  Carlo ;  it 
is  so  easy  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  them.  And  now  ab.iut  myself; 
you  want  to  know  what  I  am — what  I  am  about.  Ah,  I  perceive 
it,  monsieur.  AVell,  this  time,  on  the  other  hand,  I  shall  be  dis- 
creet. But  if  you  hear  of  something  within  a  few-  weeks — if  the 
whole  of  the  world  begins  to  chatter  about  it — and  you  say, '  Well, 
that  woman  had  pluck' — then  you  can  think  of  our  little  conver- 
sation durino-  the  nioht,  Wc  must  be  getting  near  Amiens,  is  it 
not  so  ?" 

She  took  from  her  travelling-bag  a  small  apparatus  for  show- 
ering eau-de-cologne  in  spray,  and  with  this  sprinkled  her  fore- 
head ;  afterward  removing  the  drops  with  a  soft  white  sponge. 


404  SUNRISE. 

and  smootliino-  her  rebellious  black  hair.      Then  she  took  out  a 
tiny  flask  aud  cup  of  silver. 

"  Permit  me,  monsieur,  to  give  you  a  little  cognac,  after  so 
many  cigarettes.  I  fear  you  have  only  been  smoking  to  keep 
me  company — " 

"A  thousand  thanks,  madame !"  said  Calabressa,  who  certainly 
did  not  refuse.  She  took  none  herself ;  indeed,  .she  had  just 
time  to  put  her  bags  in  order  again  when  the  train  slowed  into 
Amiens  station  ;  and  she,  bidding  her  bewildered  and  bewitched 
companion  a  most  courteous  farewell,  got  out  and  departed. 

Calabressa  himself  soon  fell  asleep,  and  did  not  wake  until 
they  were  near  Paris.  By  this  time  the  bundle  of  rugs  in  the 
corner  had  begun  to  show  signs  of  animation. 

"  Well,  friend  Reitzei,  you  have  had  a  good  sleep,"  said  Cala- 
bressa, yawning,  and  stretching  his  arms. 

"  I  have  slept  a  little." 

"  You  have  slept  all  night — what  more  ?  What  do  you  know, 
for  example,  of  the  young  lady  who  was  in  the  carriage  V 

"  I  saw  her  come  in,"  Reitzei  said,  indifferently, "  and  I  heard 
you  talking  once  or  twice.     What  was  she  ?" 

"  There  you  ask  me  a  pretty  question.  My  belief  is  that  she 
was  either  one  of  those  Nihilist  madwomen,  or  else  the  devil 
himself  in  a  new  shape.  At  any  rate,  she  had  some  good 
cognac." 

"  I  should  like  some  coffee  now,  Signer  Calabressa ;  and  you  ?" 

"  I  would  not  refuse  it." 

Indeed,  during  all  this  journey  to  Naples,  Calabressa  and  his 
companion  talked  much  more  of  the  commonplace  incidents  and 
wants  of  travel  than  of  the  graver  matters  that  lay  before  them. 
Calabressa  was  especially  resolute  in  doing  so.  He  did  not  like 
to  look  ahead.  He  kept  reminding  himself  that  he  was  simply 
the  agent  of  the  Council ;  he  was  carrying  out  their  behests ;  the 
consequences  were  for  others  to  deal  with.  He  had  fulfilled  his 
commission  ;  he  had  procured  sufficient  proof  of  the  suspected 
conspiracy  ;  if  evil-doers  were  to  be  punished,  was  he  responsible  ? 
Fiat  justitia  !  he  kept  repeating  to  himself.  He  was  answerable 
to  the  Council  alone.     He  had  done  his  duty. 

But  from  time  to  time — and  especially  when  they  were  travel- 
ling at  night,  and  he  was  awake — a  haunting  dread  possessed 
him.     How  should  he  appear  before  these  two  women  in  Naples  ? 


THE    TRIAL.  405 

Hi3  old  friend  Natalie  Berezolyi  had  been  grievously  wronged ; 
she  had  .siiffcrod  through  long  years;  but  a  wife  forgets  much 
when  her  husband  is  about  to  die.  And  a  daughter  ?  Lind  had 
been  an  affectionate  father  enough  to  this  girl ;  these  two  had 
been  companions  all  her  lifetime ;  recent  incidents  would  surely 
be  forgotten  in  her  terror  over  the  fact  that  it  was  her  own  ap- 
peal to  the  Council  that  had  wrought  her  father's  death.  And 
then  he,  Calabressa,  what  could  he  say  ?  It  was  through  him 
she  had  invoked  these  unknown  powers ;  it  was  his  counsel  that 
had  taken  her  to  Naples ;  and  he  was  the  immediate  instrument 
that  would  produce  this  tragic  end. 

lie  would  not  think  of  it.  At  the  various  places  where  they 
stopped  he  worried  about  food  and  drink,  and  angrily  haggled 
about  hotel-bills :  he  read  innumerable  stupid  little  newspapers 
from  morning  till  night ;  he  smoked  Reitzei  nearly  blind.  At 
last  they  reached  Naples. 

"Within  an  hour  after  their  arrival  Calabressa,  alone,  Avas  in 
Tommaso's  wine-vaults  talking  to  the  ghoul-like  occupant.  A 
bell  rung,  faint  and  muffled,  in  the  distance ;  he  passed  to  the 
back  of  the  vaults,  and  lit  a  candle  that  Tommaso  handed  him  ; 
then  he  followed  what  seemed,  from  the  rumble  overhead,  some 
kind  of  subterranean  corridor.  But  at  the  end  of  this  long  sub- 
way he  began  to  ascend  ;  then  he  reached  some  steps ;  finally,  he 
was  on  an  ordinary  staircase,  with  daylight  around  him,  and  above 
him  a  landing  with  two  doors,  both  shut. 

Opening  one  of  these  doors,  after  having  knocked  thrice,  he 
entered  a  large,  bare  chamber  which  was  occupied  by  three  men, 
all  seated  at  a  table  which  was  covered  with  papers.  One  of 
them,  Von  Zoesch,  rose. 

"  That  is  good ;  that  is  very  well  settled,"  he  said  to  the  other 
two.  "  It  is  a  good  piece  of  work.  Now  here  is  this  English 
business,  and  the  report  of  our  wily  friend,  Calabressa.  AVhat  is 
it,  Calabressa  ?  AYe  had  your  telegram ;  we  have  sent  for  Lind 
and  Beratinsky  ;  what  more?" 

"  Excellency,  I  have  f  ultilled  your  commission,  I  hope  with 
judgment,"  Calabressa  said,  his  cap  in  his  hand.  "  I  believe  it  is 
clear  that  the  Englishman  had  that  duty  put  upon  him  by  fraud- 
ulent means." 

"  It  is  a  pity  if  it  be  so ;  it  will  cost  us  some  further  trouble, 
and  we  have  other  things  to  think  about  at  present."     Then  he 


406  SUNRISE. 

added,  lightly,  "  but  it  will  please  your  young  lady  friend,  Cala- 
bressa.     Well?" 

**  Excellency,  you  forget  it  may  not  quite  so  well  please  her  if 
it  is  found  that  her  father  was  in  the  .conspiracy,"  said  Calabressa, 
submissively. 

"  Why  not?"  answered  the  bluff,  tall  soldier.  "  However,  to  the 
point, Calabressa.     What  have  you  discovered?  and  your  proofs." 

"  I  have  none,  your  Excellency ;  but  I  have  brought  with  me 
one  of  the  four  in  the  ballot  who  is  willing  to  confess.  Why  is 
he  willing  to  confess?"  said  Calabressa,  with  a  little  triumphant 
smile ;  "  because  he  thinks  the  gentlemen  of  the  Council  know 
already." 

"  And  you  have  frightened  the  poor  devil,  no  doubt,"  said  Von 
Zoesch,  laughing. 

"  I  have,  on  the  contrary,  assured  him  of  pardon,"  said  Cala- 
bressa, gravely.  "  It  is  within  the  pow-ers  you  gave  me,  Excel- 
lency.    I  have  pledged  my  honor — " 

"Oh  yes,  yes;  very  well.  But  do  you  mean  to  tell  us,  my 
good  Calabressa,"  said  this  tall  man,  speaking  more  seriously, 
"that  you  have  proof  of  these  three — Lind,  Beratinsky,  Reitzei — 
having  combined  to  impose  on  the  Englishman?  Not  Lind,  sure- 
ly ?     Perhaps  the  other  two — " 

"  Your  Excellency,  it  is  for  you  to  investigate  further  and  de- 
termine. I  will  tell  you  how  I  proceeded.  I  Avent  to  the  Eng- 
lishman, and  got  minute  particulars  of  what  occurred.  I  formed 
my  own  little  story,  my  guess,  my  theory.  I  got  hold  of  Reitzei, 
and  hinted  that  it  was  all  known.  On  my  faith,  he  never  thought 
of  denying  anything,  he  was  so  frightened !  But  regard  this. 
Excellency  ;  I  know  nothing.  I  can  give  you  the  Englishman's 
account;  then,  if  you  get  that  of  Reitzei,  and  the  two  correspond, 
it  is  a  good  proof  that  Reitzei  is  not  lying  in  his  confession.  It 
is  for  you  to  examine  him,  Excellency." 

"  No,  it  is  not  for  me,"  the  ruddy-faced  soldier-looking  man 
said,  and  then  he  turned  to  his  two  companions.  The  one  was 
the  Secretary  Granaglia ;  the  other  was  a  broad-shouldered,  elder- 
ly man,  with  strikingly  handsome  features  of  the  modern  Greek 
type,  a  pallid,  wax-like  complexion,  and  thoughtful,  impenetrable 
eyes.  "  Brother  Conventz,  I  withdraw  from  this  affair.  I  leave 
it  in  the  hands  of  the  Council ;  one  of  the  accused  was  in  former 
days  my  friend ;  it  is  not  right  that  I  should  interfere." 


THE    TRIAL,  407 

"  Ami  I  also,  Excellency,"  said  Calabressa,  eagerly.  "  I  have 
fultilled  my  conmiission ;  may  not  I  retire  now  also  ?" 

"Brother  Granaglia  will  take  down  your  report  in  writing; 
then  you  arc  free,  my  Calabressa.  But  you  will  take  the  sum- 
mons of  the  Council  to  your  friend  Keitzei ;  I  suppose  he  will 
have  to  be  examined  before  the  otliers  arrive." 

And  so  it  came  about  that  neither  the  General  von  Zoesch  nor 
Calabressa  was  present  when  the  trial,  if  trial  it  could  be  called, 
took  place.  There  were  no  formalities.  In  this  same  big  bare 
room  seven  members  of  the  Council  sat  at  the  table,  Brother  Con- 
vcntz  presiding,  the  Secretary  Granaglia  at  the  foot,  with  writing- 
materials  before  him.  Ferdinand  Lind  and  Beratinsky  stood  be- 
tween them  and  the  side-wall,  apparently  impassive.  Reitzei  was 
nearer  tlie  window,  pallid,  uneasy,  his  eyes  wandering  about  the 
room,  but  avoiding  the  place  where  his  former  colleagues  stood. 

The  President  brietlv  stated  the  accusation  asxainst  them,  and 
read  Reitzei's  account  of  his  share  in  what  had  taken  place.  Uc 
asked  if  they  had  anything  to  deny  or  explain. 

Beratinsky  Avas  the  first  to  speak. 

"Illustrious  Brethren  of  tlie  Council,"  he  began,  as  if  with 
some  set  speech ;  but  his  color  suddenly  forsook  him,  and  he 
halted  and  looked  helplessly  round.  Then  he  said,  wildly,  "  I  de- 
clare that  I  am  innocent — I  say  that  I  am  innocent !  I  never 
should  have  thought  of  it,  gentlemen.  It  was  Lind's  suggestion ; 
he  wished  to  get  rid  of  the  man  ;  I  declare  I  had  nothing  to  gain. 
Gentlemen,  iudge  for  yourselves  :  what  had  I  to  o-ain  ?" 

lie  looked  from  one  to  the  other ;  the  grave  faces  there  were 
mostly  regarding  Granaglia,  who  was  slowly  and  carefully  putting 
the  words  down. 

Then  Lind  spoke,  clearly  and  coldly  : 

"  I  have  nothing  to  deny.  What  I  did  was  done  in  the  inter- 
ests of  the  Society.  My  reward  for  my  long  services  is  that  I 
am  haled  here  like  a  pickpocket.  It  is  the  second  time ;  it  will 
be  the  last.  I  have  done,  now,  with  the  labor  of  my  life.  You 
can  reap  the  fruits  of  it.     Do  with  me  what  you  please." 

The  President  rose. 

"The  gentlemen  may  now  retire;  the  decision  of  the  Council 
will  be  communicated  to  them  hereafter." 

A  bell  was  rung;  Tommaso  appeared;  Lind  and  Beratinsky 
were  conducted  down  the  stairs  and  through  the  dark  corridor. 


408  SUNRISE. 

In  a  few  seconds  Toramaso  returned,  and  performed  a  like  office 
for  Reitzei. 

The  deliberations  of  the  Council  were  but  of  short  duration. 
The  guilt  of  the  accused  was  clear ;  and  clear  and  positive  was 
the  penalty  prescribed  by  the  articles  of  the  Society.  But,  in 
consideration  of  the  fact  that  Beratinsky  had  been  led  into  this 
affair  by  Lind,  it  was  resolved  to  offer  him  the  alternative  of  his 
taking  over  the  service  from  which  Brand  was  released.  This 
afforded  but  a  poor  chance  of  escape,  but  Beratinsky  was  in  a 
desperate  position.  That  same  evening  he  accepted ;  and  the 
Secretary  Granaglia  was  forthwith  ordered  to  report  the  result  of 
these  proceedings  to  England,  and  give  certain  instructions  as  to 
the  further  conduct  of  business  there. 

The  Secretary  Granaglia  performed  this  task  with  his  usual 
equanimity.  He  was  merely  a  machine  registering  the  decrees  of 
the  Council ;  it  was  no  affair  of  his  to  be  concerned  about  the 
.fate  of  Ferdinand  Lind;  he  had  even  forgotten  the  existence  of 
the  two  women  who  had  been  patiently  waiting  day  after  day 
at  that  hotel,  alternately  hoping  and  fearing  to  learn  what  had 
occurred. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

PUT     TO     THE     PROOF. 

It  was  not  at  all  likely  that,  at  such  a  crisis,  George  Brand 
should  pay  much  attention  to  the  man  Kirski,  who  was  now  ush- 
ered into  the  room.  He  left  Edwards  to  deal  with  him.  In  any 
case  he  could  not  have  understood  a  word  they  were  saying,  ex- 
cept through  the  intei'pretation  of  Edwards,  and  that  was  a  tedi- 
ous process.     He  had  other  things  to  think  of. 

Edwards  was  in  a  somewhat  nervous  and  excited  condition 
after  hearing  this  strange  news,  and  he  grew  both  impatient  and 
angry  when  he  saw  that  Kirski  was  again  half-dazed  with  drink. 

"Yes,  I  thought  so!"  he  exclaimed,  looking  as  fierce  as  the 
mild  student-face  permitted.  "  This  is  why  you  were  not  at  the 
shop  when  I  called  to-day.  What  do  you  mean  by  it  ?  What 
has  become  of  your  promises  ?" 

"  Little  father,  I  have  great  trouble,"  said  the  man,  humbly. 

"You!     You  in  trouble!"  said  Edwards,  angrily.     "You  do 


PUT    TO    THE    PnOOF.  409 

not  know  what  trouMo  is.  You  have  everything  in  the  world 
you  could  wish  for.  You  have  good  friends,  as  much  employ- 
ment as  you  can  Avant,  fair  wages,  and  a  comfortable  home.  If 
your  wife  ran  away  from  you,  isn't  it  a  good  riddance?  And 
then,  instead  of  setting  about  your  work  like  a  good  citizen,  you 
think  of  nothing  but  murdering  a  man  who  is  as  far  away  from 
you  as  the  man  in  the  moon,  and  then  you  take  to  drinking,  and 
become  a  nuisance  to  every  one." 

"  Little  father,  I  have  manv  troubles,  and  I  wish  to  forjret." 

"Your  troubles!"  said  Edwards,  though  his  angjer  was  a  little 
bit  assumed :  he  wished  to  frighten  the  man  into  better  ways. 
"  What  are  your  troubles?  Think  of  that  beautiful  lady  you  are 
always  talking  about,  who  interested  herself  in  you — tlie  bigger 
fool  she ! — think  of  her  trouble  when  she  knows  that  her  father 
is  to  die ;  and  for  what  ?  Because  he  was  not  obedient  to  the 
laws  of  the  Society.  And  he  is  punished  with  death  ;  and  you, 
have  you  been  obedient?  What  has  become  of  your  promises 
to  me  ?" 

The  man  before  him  seemed  at  this  moment  to  arouse  himself. 
He  answered  nothing  to  the  reproaches  hurled  at  him ;  but  said, 
with  a  glance  of  eager  interest  in  the  sunken  eyes, 

"  Is  she  in  great  trouble,  little  father  ?" 

This  gleam  of  intelligence  rather  startled  Edwards.  lie  had 
been  merely  scolding  a  half-drunken  poor  devil,  and  had  been 
incautious  as  to  what  he  said.  He  continued,  with  greater  dis- 
cretion, 

"  W^ould  she  have  her  troubles  made  any  the  less  if  she  knew 
how  you  were  behaving  ?  She  was  interested  in  you ;  many  a 
time  she  asked  about  you — " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  the  man  said,  slowly ;  and  he  was  twisting  about 
the  cap  that  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"  And  she  gave  you  her  portrait.  Well,  I  am  glad  you  knew 
you  were  not  fit  to  retain  such  a  gift.  A  young  lady  like  that 
does  not  give  her  portrait  to  be  taken  into  public-houses — " 

"No  more — do  not  say  any  more,  little  father,"  Kirski  said, 
though  in  the  same  humble  way.     '*  It  is  useless." 

"Useless?" 

"  I  will  not  go  back  to  any  public-house — never." 

"  So  you  said  to  me  four  days  ago,"  Edwards  answered. 

"This  time  it  is  true,"  he  said,  though  he  did  not  lift  his 

18 


410  SUNRISE. 

bleared  eyes,  "  To-morrow  I  will  tate  back  tlie  portrait,  little 
father;  it  shall  remain  with  me,  in  my  room.  I  do  not  go  back 
to  any  public-house ;  I  shall  be  no  more  trouble."  Then  he  said, 
timidly  raising  his  eyes,  "Does  she  weep — that  beautiful  one?" 

"  Yes,  no  doubt,"  said  Edwards,  hastily,  and  in  some  confusion. 
"Is  it  not  natural  ?  But  you  must  not  say  a  word  about  it ;  it  is 
a  secret.  Think  of  it,  and  what  one  has  to  suffer  in  this  world, 
and  then  ask  yourself  if  you  will  add  to  the  trouble  of  one  who 
has  been  so  kind  to  you.  Now  do  I  understand  you  aright  ?  Is 
it  a  definite  promise  this  time  ?" 

"  This  time,  yes,  little  father.  You  will  have  no  more  need  to 
complain  of  me.  I  will  not  add  to  any  one's  trouble.  To-mor- 
row— no,  to-night  I  take  back  the  portrait ;  it  is  sacred ;  I  will 
not  add  to  any  one's  trouble." 

There  was  something  strange  about  the  man's  manner,  but 
Edwards  put  it  down  to  the  effects  of  drink,  and  was  chiefly 
concerned  in  impressing  on  the  dazed  intelligence  before  him  the 
responsibility  of  the  promises  he  had  given. 

"  To-morrow,  then,  at  nine  you  are  at  the  shop." 

"Assuredly,  if  you  wish  it,  little  father." 

"  Remember,  it  is  the  last  chance  your  master  will  give  you. 
He  is  very  kind  to  give  you  this  chance.  To-morrow  you  begin 
a  new  course  of  conduct ;  and  when  the  young  lady  comes  back 
I  will  tell  her  of  it." 

"  I  will  not  add  to  her  troubles,  little  father ;  you  may  be 
sure  of  it  this  time." 

When  he  had  gone.  Brand  turned  to  his  companion.  He  still 
held  that  letter  in  his  hands.  His  face,  that  had  grown  some- 
what haggard  of  late,  was  even  paler  than  usual. 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  feel  very  glad,  Edwards,"  he  said. 
"This  is  a  reprieve,  don't  you  see,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned. 
And  yet  I  can't  realize  it ;  I  don't  seem  to  care  about  it ;  all  the 
bitterness  was  over — " 

"  You  are  too  bewildered  yet.  Brand — no  wonder." 

"  If  only  the  girl  and  her  mother  were  over  here !"  he  said ; 
and  then  he  added,  with  a  quick  instmct  of  fear,  "  What  will 
she  say  to  me?  When  she  appealed  to  the  Council,  surely  she 
could  not  have  imagined  that  the  result  would  be  her  father's 
death.  But  now  that  she  finds  it  so — when  she  finds  that,  in  or- 
der to  rescue  me,  she  has  sacrificed  him — " 


PUT    TO    THE    PROOF.  411 

He  could  not  coinplete  the  sentence. 

"  But  he  has  riclily  deserved  it,"  said  Edwards. 

"  Tiiat  is  not  what  she  will  look  to,"  he  said.  "  Edwards," 
he  added,  presently,  "  I  am  going  home  now.  This  place  stifles 
me.  I  hate  the  look  of  it.  That  table  is  where  they  played 
their  little  sleight-of-hand  business ;  and  oh !  the  bravery  of  the 
one  and  the  indifference  of  the  other,  and  Lind's  solemn  exposi- 
tion of  duty  and  obedience,  and  all  the  rest  of  it !  "Well,  what 
will  be  the  result  when  this  pretty  story  becomes  known  ?  Ras- 
cality among  the  very  foremost  officers  of  the  Society  !  what  are 
all  those  people  who  have  recently  joined  us,  who  are  thinking 
of  joining  us,  likely  to  say  ?  Are  these  your  high-priests  ?  Are 
these  the  apostles  ef  self-sacrifice,  and  all  the  virtues  ?" 

"  It  is  bad  enough,  but  not  irreparable,"  said  Edwards,  calmly. 
"  If  a  member  here  or  there  falls  out,  the  association  remains ; 
if  one  of  its  high  officers  betrays  his  trust,  you  see  how  swift  and 
terrible  the  punishment  is." 

"  I  do  not,"  said  Brand.  "  I  see  that  the  paper  decree  is  swift 
enough,  but  what  about  the  execution  of  it  ?  Have  the  Council 
a  body  of  executioners  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Edwards,  simply ;  "  but  I 
know  that  when  I  was  in  Naples  with  Calabressa,  I  heard  of  the 
fate  of  several  against  whom  decrees  had  been  pronounced ;  and 
I  know  that  in  every  instance  they  anticipated  their  own  fate ; 
the  horror  of  being  continually  on  the  watch  was  too  much  for 
them.  You  may  depend  on  it,  that  is  what  Lind  will  do.  He 
is  a  proud  man.  He  will  not  go  slinking  about,  afraid  at  every 
street-corner  of  the  knife  of  tlie  Little  Chaffinch,  or  some  other 
of  those  Camorra  fellows — " 

"  Edwards,"  said  Brand,  hastily,  "  there  is  a  taint  of  blood — of 
treachery — about  this  whole  affair  that  sickens  me.  It  terrifies 
me  when  I  think  of  what  lies  ahead.  I — I  think  I  have  already 
tasted  death,  and  tlic  taste  is  still  bitter  in  the  mouth.  I  must 
get  into  the  fresh  air." 

Edwards  got  his  coat  and  hat,  and  followed.  He  saw  that  his 
companion  was  strangely  excited. 

"  If  all  this  work — if  all  we  liave  been  looking  forward  to — 
were  to  turn  out  to  be  a  delusion,"  Brand  said,  hurriedly,  when 
they  had  got  into  the  dark  clear  night  outside,  "  that  would  be 
worse  than  the  suicide  of  Ferdinand  Lind  or  the  disappearance 


412  SUNRISE. 

of  Beratinsky.  If  tLis  is  to  be  tlie  end — if  these  are  our  com- 
panions— " 

"  But  Low  can  you  suggest  sucli  a  tLing  ?''  Edwards  protest- 
ed. "Your  imagination  is  filled  with  blackness,  Brand.  You 
are  disturbed,  shocked,  afraid.  Wliy,  who  are  your  colleagues  ? 
What  do  you  think  of — "  Here  he  mentioned  a  whole  string 
of  names,  some  of  them  those  of  well-known  Ena-lishmen.  "Do 
you  accuse  them  of  treachery  ?  Have  you  not  perfect  confidence 
in  them  ?  Ilave  they  not  perfect  confidence  in  the  work  we  are 
all  pledged  to  ?" 

But  he  could  not  shake  off  this  horrible  feelinor.  He  wished 
to  be  alone, to  fight  with  it;  he  did  not  even  think  of  going  ti) 
Lord-Evelyn  ;  perhaps  it  was  now  too  late.  Shortly  afterward 
he  bade  Edwards  good-night,  and  made  his  way  to  his  rooms  at 
the  foot  of  Buckingham  Street. 

Waters  had  left  the  lights  low ;  he  did  not  turn  them  up. 
Outside  lay  the  black  night-world  of  London,  hushed  and  silent, 
with  its  thousand  golden  points  of  fire.     He  was  glad  to  be  alone. 

And  yet  an  unknown  feeling  of  dread  was  upon  him.  It 
seemed  as  if  now  for  the  first  time  he  realized  what  a  terrible 
destiny  had  nearly  been  his ;  and  that  his  escape,  so  far  from 
rendering  him  joyful,  had  left  him  still  trembling  and  horrified. 
Hitherto  his  pride  had  conquered.  Even  as  he  had  undertaken 
that  duty,  it  was  his  pride  that  had  kept  him  outwardly  calm 
and  indifferent.  He  would  not  show  fear,  he  would  not  even 
show  repugnance,  before  these  men.  And  it  was  pride,  too,  that 
had  taught  hira  at  length  and  successfully  to  crush  down  certain 
vague  rebellions  of  conscience.  He  would  not  go  back  from  his 
oath.  He  would  not  go  back  from  the  promise  to  which  Nata- 
lie's ring  bound  him.  He  would  go  through  with  tliis  thing, 
and  bid  farewell  to  life ;  further  than  that  no  one  could  have 
demands  on  him. 

But  the  sudden  release  from  this  dire  pressure  of  will  left  his 
nerves  somewhat  unstrung.  For  the  mere  sake  of  companionship 
he  would  like  to  have  taken  Natalie's  hand,  to  have  heard  her 
voice ;  that  would  have  assured  him,  and  given  him  courage. 
He  knew  not  what  dangers  encompassed  her,  what  agony  she 
mlQ-ht  not  be  suffering.  And  the  night  did  not  answer  these 
sudden,  wavering,  confused  questionings ;  the  darkness  outside 
was  as  silent  as  the  grave. 


PUT    TO    THE    PKOOF.  413 

Then  a  deeper  gloom,  almost  toiicliiiiL^  despair,  fell  upon  him. 
He  saw  ill  all  those  companions  of  his  only  so  many  dupes  ;  the 
great  hope  of  his  life  left  him,  the  future  became  blank,  lie  be- 
gan to  persuade  himself  that  he  had  only  toyed  with  that  new- 
found faith ;  that  it  was  the  desperation  of  ennui,  not  a  true 
hope,  that  had  drawn  him  into  this  work ;  that  henceforth  he 
would  have  no  right  to  call  upon  others  to  join  in  a  vain  under- 
taking. If  such  things  as  had  just  occurred  were  possible  in  this 
organization,  with  all  its  lofty  aims  and  professions — if  there  was 
to  be  a  background  of  assassination  and  conspiracy — why,  this 
dream  must  go  as  others  had  done.  Then  what  remained  to  him 
in  life?  lie  almost  wished  he  had  been  allowed  to  go  forward 
to  this  climax  unknowing;  to  have  gone  with  his  heart  still 
filled  with  faith;  to  be  assured  until  the  last  moment  that  Nata- 
lie w^onld  remember  how  he  had  fulfilled  his  promise  to  her. 

It  was  a  dark  night  for  him,  within  and  without.  But  as  he 
sat  there  at  the  window,  or  walked  up  and  down,  wrestling  with 
these  demons  of  doubt  and  despair,  a  dull  blue  light  gradually 
filled  the  sky  outside ;  the  orange  stars  on  the  bridges  grew  less 
intense ;  the  broad  river  became  visible  in  the  dusk.  Then  by- 
and-by  the  dull  blue  cleared  into  a  pale  steely-gray,  and  the  forms 
of  the  boats  could  be  made  out,  anchored  in  the  stream  there : 
these  were  the  first  indications  of  the  coming  dawn. 

Somehow  or  other  he  ceased  these  restless  pacings  of  his,  and 
was  attracted  to  the  window,  though  he  gazed  but  absently  on 
the  slow  change  taking  place  outside — the  world-old  wonder  of 
the  new  day  rising  in  the  east.  Up  into  that  steely-gray  glides 
a  soft  and  luminous  saffron  -  brown ;  it  spreads  and  widens; 
against  it  the  far  dome  of  St.  Paul's  becomes  a  beautiful  velvet- 
purple.  A  planet,  that  had  been  golden  when  it  was  in  the  dusk 
near  the  horizon,  has  now  sailed  up  into  the  higher  heaven,  and 
shines  a  clear  silver  point.  And  now,  listen !  the  hushed  and 
mutfied  sounds  in  the  silence;  the  great  city  is  awakening  from 
its  sleep — there  is  the  bark  of  a  dog — the  rumble  of  a  cart  is 
heard.  And  still  that  saffron  glow  spreads  and  kindles  in  the 
east,  and  the  dome  of  St.  Paul's  is  richer  in  hue  than  ever;  thts 
river,  between  the  black-gray  bridges,  shines  now  with  a  cold  light, 
and  the  gas-lamps  have  grown  pale.  And  then  the  final  flood 
of  glory  wells  up  in  the  eastern  skies,  and  all  around  him  the  high- 
er buildings  catch  here  and  there  a  swift  golden  gleam  :  the  sun- 


414  SUNRISE. 

rise  is  declared ;  there  is  a  new  day  born  for  the  sons  and  the 
daughters  of  men. 

The  night  had  lied,  and  with  it  the  hideous  phantoms  of  the 
night.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  escaped  from  the  grave, 
and  that  lie  was  only  now  shaking  off  the  horror  of  it.  Look  at 
the  beautiful,  clear  colors  without ;  listen  to  the  hum  of  the  city 
awakening  to  all  its  cheerful  activities ;  the  new  day  has  brought 
with  it  new  desires,  new  hopes.  He  threw  open  the  windows. 
The  morning  air  was  cold  and  sweet — the  sparrows  were  begin- 
ning to  chirp  in  the  garden-plots  below.  Surely  that  black  night 
was  over  and  gone. 

If  only  he  could  see  Natalie  for  one  moment,  to  assure  her  that 
he  had  succumbed  but  once,  and  for  the  last  time,  to  despair.  It 
was  a  confession  he  was  bound  to  make;  it  would  not  lessen  her 
trust  in  him.  For  now  all  through  his  soul  a  sweet,  clear  voice 
was  rino-ing :  it  was  the  song  the  sunrise  had  brought  him ;  it 
was  the  voice  of  Natalie  herself,  witli  all  its  proud  pathos  and 
fervor,  as  he  had  heard  it  in  the  olden  days : 

"  A  little  time  we  gain  from  time 
To  set  our  seasons  in  some  chime, 

For  harsh  or  sweet,  or  loud  or  low, 

"With  seasons  played  out  long  ago — 
And  souls  that  in  their  time  and  prime 

Took  part  with  summer  or  with  snow, 
Lived  abject  lives  out  or  sublime, 

And  had  their  chance  of  seed  to  sow 
For  service  or  disservice  done 
To  those  days  dead  and  this  their  son. 

"  A  little  time  that  we  may  fill 
Or  with  such  good  works  or  such  ill 

As  loose  the  bonds  or  make  them  strong, 

Wherein  all  manhood  suffers  wrong. 
By  rose-hung  river  and  light-foot  rill 

There  are  who  rest  not ;  who  think  long 
Till  they  discern,  as  from  a  hill, 

At  the  sun's  hour  of  morning  song, 
Known  of  souls  only,  and  those  souls  free, 
The  sacred  spaces  of  the  sea." 

Surely  it  was  still  for  him  and  her  together  to  stand  on  some 
such  height,  hand-in-hand,  and  watch  the  sunrise  come  over  the 
sea  and  the  awakening  world.     They  would  forget  the  phantoms 


CONGRATULATIONS.  415 

of  the  niglit,  and  the  traitors  gone  down  to  Erebus ;  perhaps,  for 
this  new  life  together,  they  niiglit  seek  a  new  clime.  There  was 
work  for  them  still ;  and  faith,  and  hope,  and  the  constant  assur- 
ance of  love:  the  future  might  perchance  be  all  the  more  beauti- 
ful because  of  these  dark  perils  of  the  past. 

As  he  lay  thus  communing  with  liimself,  the  light  sliining  in 
on  his  haggard  face.  Waters  came  into  the  room,  and  was  greatly 
concerned  to  find  that  not  only  had  his  master  not  been  to  bed, 
but  tliat  the  sujjper  left  out  for  him  the  night  before  had  not 
been  touched.  Brand  rose,  without  betraying  any  impatience 
over  his  attendant's  pertinacious  inquiries  and  remonstrances. 
He  went  and  got  writing  materials,  and  wrote  as  follows : 

"  Dear  Evelyn, — If  you  could  go  over  to  Naples  for  me — at 
once  —  I  would  take  it  as  a  great  favor.  I  cannot  go  myself. 
Whether  or  not,  come  to  see  me  at  Lisle  Street  to-day,  by  twelve. 

"  Yours,  G.  B." 

"  Take  this  to  Lord  Evelyn,  Waters ;  and  if  he  is  up  get  an 
answer." 

"  But  your  breakfast,  sir.     God  bless  me — " 

"  Never  mind  breakfast.  I  am  going  to  lie  down  for  an  hour 
or  two  now  :  I  have  had  some  business  to  think  over.  Let  rac 
have  some  breakfast  about  eleven — when  I  ring." 

"  Very  well,  sir." 

That  was  his  phrase — he  had  had  some  business  to  think  over. 
But  it  seemed  to  him,  as  he  went  into  the  adjacent  room,  that 
that  night  he  had  passed  through  worse  than  the  bitterness  of 
death. 


CHAPTER  LV. 

CONGRATULATIONS. 


The  Secretary  Granaglia,  the  business  of  the  Council  being 
over,  carried  the  news  to  Von  Zoesch.  It  was  almost  dark  when 
he  made  his  way  up  the  steep  little  terraces  in  the  garden  of  the 
villa  at  Posilipo.  He  found  the  tall  general  seated  at  the  entrance 
to  the  grotto-like  retreat,  smoking  a  cigar  in  the  dusk. 

"  You  are  late,  Granaglia,"  he  said. 

"  I  had  some  difficulty  in   coming  here,"  said  the  little  man 


416  SUNRISE. 

with  the  sallow  face  and  the  tired  eyes.  "The  police  are  busy, 
or  pretending  to  be.  The  Comraendatore  tells  me  that  Zaccatelli 
has  been  stirring  them  np." 

"  Zaccatelli !"  said  Von  Zoesch,  with  a  little  lauo-h.  "  It  will 
soon  be  time  now  for  Zaccatelli  to  come  down  from  his  perch. 
Well,  now,  what  is  the  result  ?" 

Granaglia  briefly  recounted  what  had  occurred :  the  other  mani> 
fested  no  surprise. 

"  So  this  is  the  end  of  the  Lind  episode,"  he  said,  thoughtfully. 
"  It  is  a  pity  that  so  able  a  man  should  be  thrown  away.  He 
has  worked  well ;  I  know  of  no  one  who  will  fill  his  place ;  but 
that  must  be  seen  to  at  once,  Granaglia,  How  long  have  they 
given  him  ?" 

"  A  month,  your  Excellency.  He  wishes  to  go  back  to  Eng- 
land to  put  his  affairs  in  order.     He  has  a  firm  nerve." 

"He  was  a  good-looking  man  when  he  was  young,"  said  Von 
Zoesch,  apparently  to  himself.  Then  he  added:  "This  Beratin- 
sky,  to  whom  the  Zaccatelli  affair  has  been  transferred  —  what 
do  you  think  of  him  ?  There  must  be  no  bungling,  Granaglia. 
What  do  you  think  of  him — is  he  to  be  trusted  ?" 

"Your  Excellency,  if  I  were  to  give  you  my  own  impression,  I 
should  say  not  in  the  least.  He  accepts  this  service — why  ?  Be- 
cause he  is  otherwise  lost  for  certain,  and  here  is  a  chance :  it  is 
perhaps  better  than  nothing.  But  he  does  not  go  forward  with 
any  conviction  of  duty :  what  is  he  thinking  but  of  his  chance 
of  running  away  ?" 

"And  perhaps  running  away  beforehand,  for  example?" 

"  Oh  no,  your  Excellency  ;  at  least,  that  has  been  provided  for. 
Caprone  and  the  brother  of  Caprone  will  wait  upon  him  until  the 
thing  is  over;  and  what  is  more,  he  will  receive  a  hint  that  these 
two  humble  attendants  of  his  are  keeping  an  eye  on  him." 

"  Caprone  dare  not  go  to  Rome." 

"  He  is  ready  to  go  anywhere.  They  might  as  well  try  to  lay 
hands  on  a  ghost." 

Von  Zoesch  rose,  and  stretched  his  huge  frame,  and  yawned. 

"  So  this  is  the  end  of  the  episode  Lind,"  he  said,  idly.  "  It 
is  a  pity.  But  if  a  man  plays  a  risky  game  and  loses,  he  must 
pay.  Perhaps  the  warning  will  be  wholesome,  Granaglia.  Our 
friends  must  understand  that  our  laws  are  not  laid  down  for 
nothing,  and  that  wc  are  not  afraid  to  punish  offenders,  even  if 


CONGRATULATIONS.  417 

these  be  among  ourselves.  I  suppose  there  is  nothing  further  to 
be  done  to-night  ?" 

"  I  wonhl  ask  your  Excellency  to  remain  here  for  a  little  time 
yet,"  said  the  Secretary. 

"Are  they  coming  so  near?  We  must  get  Calabrcssa  to  pro- 
cure some  of  them  a  dozen  or  two  on  board  the  schooner.  How- 
ever— " 

He  sat  down  again,  and  lit  another  cigar. 

"We  must  pay  Calabressa  a  compliment,  Granaglia;  it  war. 
well  done  —  very  clGvcr;  it  has  all  turned  out  just  as  he  im- 
agined :  it  is  not  the  first  time  he  has  done  us  good  service,  with 
all  his  volubility.  Oh  yes;  the  rascal  knows  when  to  hold  his 
tongue.  At  this  moment,  for  example,  he  refuses  to  open  his 
lips." 

"  Pardon,  your  Excellency  ;  but  I  do  not  understand  you." 

The  general  laughed  a  little,  and  continued  talking  —  it  was 
one  way  of  passing  the  time. 

"  It  is  a  good  joke  enough.  The  wily  old  Galabressa  saw  pret- 
ty clearly  what  the  decision  of  the  Council  would  be,  and  so  he 
comes  to  me  and  entreats  me  to  be  the  bearer  of  the  news  to 
Madame  Liiid  and  her  daughter.  Oh  yes ;  it  is  good  news,  this 
deliverance  of  the  Englishman ;  Madame  Lind  is  an  old  friend  of 
mine;  she  and  her  daughter  will  be  grateful.  But  you  perceive, 
Granaglia,  that  what  the  cunning  old  dog  was  determined  to  avoid 
was  the  reporting  to  Madame  Lind  that  her  husband  had  been 
sentenced.  That  w^as  no  part  of  the  original  programme.  And 
now  Calabressa  holds  his  mouth  shut;  he  keeps  out  of  the  way; 
it  is  left  for  me  to  go  and  inform  the  mother  and  daughter." 

Ilis  voice  became  more  serious. 

"  The  devil  take  it,  it  is  no  pleasant  task  at  all !  One  is  never 
sure  how  the  brain  of  a  woman  will  work :  you  start  the  engine, 
but  it  may  plunge  back  the  Avrong  way  and  strike  you.  Cala- 
bressa is  afraid.     The  fox  is  hiding  in  some  hole  until  it  is  all 


over." 


"  Cannot  I  be  of  service,  your  Excellency  V  the  Secretary  said. 

"  Xo,  no ;  but  I  thank  you,  friend  Granaglia.  It  is  a  delicate 
matter;  it  must  be  approached  with  circumspection;  and  I,  as  an 
old  acquaintance  of  Madame  Lind,  ought  not  to  shirk  the  duty." 

Apparently,  it  was  not  Calabressa  only  who  had  some  dread  of 
the  difficulties  of  news-bearer. 


4:18  SUNRISE. 

"  It  is  impossible  for  your  Excellency  to  go  near  the  hotel  at 
present,"  said  the  Secretary,  promptly. 

But  his  chief  refused  to  accept  this  offered  means  of  escape. 

"  That  is  true,  but  it  is  not  a  difficulty.  To-night,  friend  Gra- 
naglia,  you  will  send  a  message  to  the  hotel,  bidding  them  be  at 
the  Villa  Odclschalchi  to-morrow  morning  at  eleven — you  under- 
stand r 

"  Certainly,  your  Excellency." 

"  Then  I  will  meet  them,  and  take  the  risk.  Everything  must 
be  settled  off  at  once :  we  have  wasted  too  much  time  over  this 
affair,  Granaglia.     When  does  the  Genoa  Council  meet?" 

"  On  the  seventh." 

"To-morrow  you  must  issue  the  summonses.  Come,  Gra- 
naglia, let  us  be  stirring ;  it  is  cold.  Where  does  Brother  Con- 
ventz  sleep  to-night  ?" 

"  On  board  the  schooner,  your  Excellency." 

"  I  also.  To-morrow,  at  eleven,  you  will  be  at  Portici ;  to- 
night you  will  send  the  message  to  the  two  ladies  at  the  hotel ; 
and  also,  if  you  can,  find  out  where  that  rogue  Calabressa  is  hid- 
ing." 

That  was  the  last  of  their  talkino-.  There  w'as  some  lockino- 
up  inside ;  then  they  passed  down  through  the  dark  garden  and 
out  into  the  road.  There  was  no  one  visible.  They  walked  on 
in  silence. 

Punctually  at  eleven  the  next  morning  Natalie  and  her  mother 
appeared  at  the  iron  gates  of  the  Villa  Odclschalchi  and  rang  the 
bell.  The  porter  appeared,  admitted  them,  and  then  turned  to 
the  great  white  staircase,  which  Granaglia  was  at  that  moment 
seen  to  be  descendins;. 

"  Will  the  ladies  have  the  goodness  to  step  into  the  garden  ?" 
said  the  Secretary,  with  grave  courtesy.  "General  von  Zoesch 
will  be  with  them  directly." 

He  accompanied  them  as  far  as  the  top  of  the  terrace,  and  then 
bowed  and  withdrew. 

If  Natalie  Lind  was  agitated  now,  it  was  not  with  fear.  There 
was  a  fresh  animation  of  color  in  her  cheek ;  her  eyes  were  brill- 
iant and  excited  ;  she  spoke  in  low,  eager  whispers. 

"Oh,  I  know  what  he  is  coming  to  tell  us,  mother — you  need 
not  be  afraid:  I  shall  see  it  in  his  face  before  he  comes  near — I 
think  I  shall  be  able  to  hear  it  in  the  sound  of  his  steps.     Have 


CONGRATILATION'S.  419 

courage  mother!  why  do  you  tremble  so  ?  Remember  what  Cala- 
bressa  said.  Thoy  arc  so  powerful  they  can  do  everything ;  and 
you  and  the  General  von  Zoesch  old  friends,  too.  Look  at  this, 
mother :  do  you  see  what  I  have  brought  with  me  ?" 

She  opened  her  purse — her  fingers  were  certainly  a  little  nervous 
— and  showed  her  mother  a  folded-up  telegraph  form. 

"  I  am  going  to  telegraph  to  him,  mother;  surely  it  is  from  me 
he  should  hear  the  new's  first.  And  then  he  might  come  here, 
mother,  to  go  back  with  us :  you  will  rest  a  few  days  after  so 
much  anxiety." 

"  I  hope,  my  darling,  it  will  all  turn  out  well,"  said  the  mother, 
turning  quickly  as  she  heard  footsteps. 

The  next  second  Von  Zoesch  appeared,  his  face  red  with  em- 
barrassment ;  but  still  Natalie  with  her  first  swift  glance  saw  that 
his  eyes  were  smiling  and  friendly,  and  her  heart  leaped  up  witli 
a  bound. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  said  he,  taking  her  hand,  "  forgive  me 
for  making  such  a  peremptory  appointnit-nt — " 

"  But  you  bring  good  news  ?"  she  said,  breathlessly.  "  Oh,  sir, 
I  can  see  that  you  have  succeeded — yes,  yes — the  danger  is  re- 
moved— you  have  saved  him  !" 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  said  he,  smiling, but  still  greatly  em- 
barrassed, "  it  is  my  good  fortune  to  be  able  to  congratulate 
you.  Ah,  I  thought  that  .Avould  bring  some  brightness  to  your 
eyes — " 

She  raised  his  hand,  and  kissed  it  twice,  passionately. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  in  a  wild,  joyful  way,  "  will  you  not  thank 
him  for  me?     I  do  not  know  what  I  am  saying — and  then — " 

The  general  had  turned  to  her  mother.  Natalie  quickly  took 
out  the  telegraph-form,  unfolded  it,  knelt  down  and  put  it  on  the 
garden-seat,  and  with  trembling  fingers  wrote  her  message  :  ^'^Vou 
are  saved/  Come  to  tcs  at  once ;  my  mother  and  I  toait  here  for 
you ;"  that  was  the  substance  of  it.  Then  she  rose,  and  for  a 
second  or  two  stood  irresolute,  silent,  and  shamefaced.  Happily 
no  one  had  noticed  her.  These  two  had  gone  forward,  and  were 
talking  together  in  a  low  voice.  She  did  not  join  them  ;  she 
could  not  have  spoken  then,  her  heart  was  throbbing  so  violently 
with  its  newly-found  joy. 

"  Stefan,"  said  the  mother — and  there  was  a  pleasant  light  in 
her  sad  eyes  too — "  I  shall  never  forget  the  gratitude  we  owe  you. 


420  SUNRISE. 

I  have  nothing  else  to  regard  now  but  my  child's  happiness.  You 
have  saved  her  life  to  her." 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  in  stammering  haste,  "I  am  glad  the  child 
is  happy.  It  would  be  a  pity,  at  her  time  of  life,  and  such  a  beau- 
tiful, brave  young  lady — yes,  it  would  be  a  pity  if  she  were  to  suf- 
fer :  I  am  very  glad.  But  there  is  another  side  to  the  question, 
Natalie;  it  refers  to  you.  I  have  not  such  good  news  for  you — 
that  is,  it  depends  on  how  you  take  it ;  but  it  is  not  good  news — 
it  will  trouble  you — only,  it  was  inevitable — " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  said,  calmly. 

"  Your  husband,"  he  said,  regarding  her  somewhat  anxiously. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  without  betraying  any  emotion. 

"Well,  you  understand,  we  had  not  the  power  to  release  your 
English  friend  unless  there  had  been  injustice — or  worse — in  his 
being  appointed.  There  was.  More  than  that,  it  was  very  near- 
ly a  repetition  of  the  old  story.  Your  husband  was  again  im- 
plicated." 

She  merely  looked  at  him,  waiting  for  him  to  continue. 

"  And  the  Council,"  he  said,  more  embarrassed  than  ever,  "  had 
to  try  him  for  his  complicity.     He  was  tried  and — condemned." 

"To  what?"  she  said,  quite  cahnly. 

"You  must  know,  Natalie.     He  loses  his  life  !" 

She  turned  very  pale. 

"  It  was  not  so  before,"  she  managed  to  say,  though  her  breath 
came  and  went  quickly. 

"It  was;  but  then  he  was  pardoned.  This  time  there  is  no 
hope." 

She  stood  silent  for  a  second  or  two ;  then  she  said,  regarding 
him  with  a  sad  look, 

"  You  think  me  heartless,  Stefan.  You  think  I  ought  to  be 
overwhelmed  with  grief.  Bat — but  I  have  been  kept  from  my 
child  for  seventeen  years.  I  have  lived  with  the  threat  of  the 
betrayal  of  my  father  hanging  over  me.  The  afPection  of  a  wife 
cannot  endure  everything.     Still,  I  am — sorry — " 

Her  eyes  were  cast  down,  and  they  slowly  filled  with  tears. 
Von  Zoesch  breathed  more  freely.  He  was  eagerly  explaining  to 
her  how  this  result  had  become  inevitable — how  he  himself  had 
had  no  participation  in  it,  and  so  forth — when  Natalie  Lind  step- 
ped quickly  up  to  them,  looking  from  the  one  to  the  other.  She 
saw  something  was  wrong. 


CONGRATULATION'S.  421 

"Motlier,  wliat  is  it?"  she  said,  in  valine  fear.  Slie  turned  to 
Von  Zocscli.  "  Oh,  sir,  if  tliere  is  something  you  have  not  told 
me — if  there  is  trouble — why  was  it  not  to  me  that  you  spoke?" 

She  took  hold  of  her  mother's  hand. 

"  Mother,  what  is  it  ?" 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  said  Von  Zoesch,  interposing,  "  you 
know  that  life  is  made  up  of  both  bitter  and  sweet — " 

"  I  wish  to  know,  signore,"  she  said,  proudly,  "  what  it  is  you 
have  told  my  mother.  If  there  is  trouble,  it  is  for  her  daughter 
to  share  it." 

"  Well,  then,  dear  voung  lady,  I  will  tell  vou,"  he  said,  "though 
it  will  grieve  you  also.  I  must  explain  to  you.  You  cannot  sup- 
pose that  the  happy  news  I  delivered  to  you  was  the  result  of  the 
will  of  any  one  man,  or  number  of  men.  No.  It  was  the  result 
of  the  application  of  law  and  justice.  Your — sweetheart,  shall  I 
call  him? — was  intrusted  with  a  grave  duty,  Avhich  would  most 
probably  have  cost  him  his  life.  In  the  ordinary  way,  no  one 
could  have  released  him  from  it,  however  much  certain  friends  of 
yours  here  might  have  been  interested  in  yoUj  and  grieved  to  see 
you  unhappy.  But  there  was  this  possibility  —  it  was  even  a 
probability — that  he  had  been  selected  for  this  service  unfairly. 
Then,  no  doubt,  if  that  could  be  proved,  he  ought  to  be  released." 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  said,  impatiently. 

"That  was  proved.  Unfortunately,  I  have  to  tell  you  that 
among  those  convicted  of  this  conspiracy  was  your  father.  Well, 
the  laws  of  our  association  are  strict — they  are  even  terrible  where 
a  delinquent  is  in  a  position  of  high  responsibility.  My  dear 
young  lady,  I  must  tell  you  the  truth ;  your  father  has  been  ad- 
judged guilty — and — and  the  punishment  is — death  I" 

She  uttered  a  quick,  short  cry  of  alarm,  and  turned  with  fright- 
ened eyes  to  her  mother. 

"  Mother,  is  it  true  ?  is  it  true  ?" 

The  mother  did  not  answer;  she  had  clasped  her  trembling 
hands.  Then  the  girl  turned ;  there  was  a  proud  passion  in  her 
voice. 

"  Oh,  sir,  what  tiger  is  there  among  you  that  is  so  athirst  for 
blood  ?  You  save  one  man's  life — after  intercession  and  prayer 
you  save  one  man's  life — only  to  seize  on  that  of  another.  And 
it  is  to  me — it  is  to  me,  his  daughter— that  you  come  with  con- 
gratulations !     I  am  only  a  child ;  I  am  to  be  pleased  :  you  speak 


422  SUNRISE. 

of  a  sweetheart ;  but  yon  do  not  tell  me  tLat  you  are  about  to 
murder  my  father !  You  give  me  my  lover ;  in  exchange  you 
tate  my  father's  life.  Is  there  a  woman  in  all  the  world  so  des- 
picable as  to  accept  her  happiness  at  such  a  cost  ?" 

Involuntarily  she  crushed  up  the  telegram  she  held  in  her  hand 
and  threw  it  away  from  her. 

"  It  is  not  I,  at  all  events,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Oh,  signore,  you 
should  not  have  mocked  me  with  your  congratulations.  That  is 
not  the  happiness  you  should  offer  to  a  daughter.  But  you  have 
not  killed  him  yet — there  is  time;  let  things  be  as  they  were; 
that  is  what  my  sweetheart,  as  you  call  him,  will  say ;  he  and  I 
are  not  afraid  to  suffer.  Surely,  rather  that  than  that  he  should 
marry  a  girl  so  heartless  and  cowardly  as  to  purchase  her  happi- 
ness at  the  cost  of  her  father's  life  ?" 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  with  a  great  pity  and  concern 
in  his  face,  "  I  can  assure  you  what  you  think  of  is  impossible. 
What  is  done  cannot  be  undone." 

Her  proud  indignation  now  gave  way  to  terror. 

"Oh  no,  signore,  you  cannot  mean  that!  I  cannot  believe  it! 
You  have  saved  one  man — oh,  signore,  for  the  love  of  Heaven, 
this  other  also !  Have  pity  !  How  can  I  live,  if  I  know  that  I 
have  killed  my  father  ?" 

He  took  both  her  hands  in  his,  and  strove  to  soothe  down  her 
wild  terror  and  dismay.  He  declared  to  her  she  had  nothing  to 
do  with  it,  no  more  than  himself;  that  her  father  had  been  tried 
by  his  colleagues ;  that  if  he  had  not  been,  a  fearful  act  of  treach- 
ery would  have  been  committed.  She  listened,  or  appeared  to 
listen;  but  her  lips  were  pale;  her  eyes  had  a  strange  look  in 
them  ;  she  was  breathless, 

"  Calabressa  said  they  were  all-powerful,"  she  interrupted  sud- 
denly, "  But  are  they  all-powerful  to  slay  only  ?  Oh  no,  I  can- 
not believe  it !  I  will  go  to  them  ;  it  cannot  be  too  late ;  I  will 
say  to  them  that  I  would  rather  have  died  than  have  appealed  to 
them  if  I  had  known  that  this  was  to  be  the  terrible  result.  And 
Calabressa — why  did  he  not  warn  me?  Or  is  he  one  of  the 
blood-thirsty  ones  also — one  of  the  tigers  that  crouch  in  the  dark  ? 
Oh,  signore,  if  they  are  all-powerful,  they  are  all-powerful  to  par- 
don.    May  I  not  go  to  themselves  ?" 

"  It  would  be  useless,  my  dear  signorina,"  said  Von  Zoesch, 
with  deep  compassion  in  his  voice,     "  I  am  sorry  to  grieve  yon, 


CONGRATULATIONS.  423 

but  justice  has  been  done,  and  the  decision  is  past  recall.  And 
do  not  blame  poor  old  Calabressa — " 

At  this  moment  the  bell  of  the  outer  <j;ntG  ranc^,  echoinfj  throufjh 
the  empty  house,  and  he  started  somewhat. 

"  Come,  child,"  said  her  mother.  "  We  have  taken  up  too 
much  of  your  time,  Stefan.  I  wish  there  had  been  no  drawback 
to  your  good  news." 

"  At  the  present  moment,"  he  said,  glancing  somewhat  anxious- 
ly toward  the  building,  "  I  cannot  ask  you  to  stay,  Natalie ;  but 
on  some  other  occasion,  and  as  soon  as  you  please,  I  will  give 
you  any  information  you  may  wish.  Remember,  you  have  good 
friends  here." 

Natalie  suffered  herself  to  be  led  away.  She  seemed  too  hor- 
ror-stricken to  be  able  to  speak.  Von  Zoesch  accompanied  them 
only  to  the  terrace,  and  there  bade  them  good-bye.  Granaglia 
was  waiting  to  show  them  to  the  gate.  A  few  moments  after- 
ward they  were  in  their  carriage,  returning  to  Naples. 

They  sat  silent  for  some  time,  the  mother  regarding  her 
daughter  anxiously. 

"  Nataluslika,  what  are  you  thinking  of?" 

The  girl  started :  her  eyes  were  filled  with  a  haunting  fear,  as 
if  she  had  just  seen  some  terrible  thing.  And  yet  she  spoke 
slowly  and  sadly  and  wistfully. 

"  I  was  thinking,  mother,  that  perhaps  it  was  not  so  hard  to  be 
condemned  to  die ;  for  then  there  would  come  an  end  to  one's 
suffering.  And  I  was  wondering  whether  there  had  been  many 
women  in  the  world  who  had  to  accuse  themselves  of  taking  a 
part  in  bringing  about  their  own  father's  death.  Oh,  I  hope  not 
— I  hope  not !" 

A  second  afterward  she  added,  with  more  than  the  bitterness 
of  tears  in  her  trembling  voice,  "  And — and  I  Nvas  thinking  of 
General  von  Zoesch's  congratulations,  mother." 


t24  SUNRISE. 


CHAPTER  LVI 

A    COMMISSION. 

Lord  Evelyn  obeyed  his  friend's  summons  in  considerable 
anxiety,  if  not  even  alarm ;  for  he  made  no  doubt  that  it  had 
some  connection  with  that  mysterious  undertaking  to  which 
Brand  was  pledged ;  but  when  he  reached  Lisle  Street,  and  was 
shown  into  the  larger  I'oom,  no  very  serious  business  seemed  go- 
ing forward.  Two  or  three  of  the  best-known  to  him  among  the 
English  members  of  the  Society  were  present,  grouped  round  a 
certain  Irish  M.P.,  who,  with  twinkling  eyes  but  otherwise  grave 
face,  was  describing  the  makeshifts  of  some  provincial  manager 
or  other  who  could  not  pay  his  company  their  weekly  salary. 
To  the  further  surprise  of  the  new-comer,  also,  Mr.  Lind  was  ab- 
sent ;  his  chair  was  occupied  by  Gathorne  Edwards. 

He  was  asked  to  go  into  an  inner  room  ;  and  there  he  found 
Brand,  looking:  much  more  like  himself  than  he  had  done  for 
some  time  back. 

"  It  is  awfully  kind  of  yon,  Evelyn,  to  come  at  once.  I  heard 
you  had  returned  to  town  yesterday.  Well,  what  of  the  old  peo- 
ple down  in  Wiltshire  f ' 

Lord  Evelyn  was  quite  thrown  off  his  guard  by  this  frank 
cheerfulness.  ^  He  forgot  the  uneasy  forebodings  with  which  he 
bad  left  his  house. 

"  Oh,  capital  old  people !"  he  said,  putting  his  hat  and  um- 
brella on  the  table — "  excellent.  But  you  sec.  Brand,  it  becomes 
a  serious  question  if  I  have  to  bury  myself  in  the  country,  and 
drink  port- wine  after  dinner,  and  listen  to  full-blown,  full-fed 
glorious  old  Tories,  every  time  a  sister  of  mine  gets  engaged  to 
be  married.  And  now  that  Rosalys  has  begun  it,  they'll  all  take 
to  it,  one  after  the  other,  like  sheep  jumping  a  ditch." 

"  They  say  Milbanke  is  a  ver}^  nice  young  fellow,"  said  Brand. 

"Petted,  a  little.  But  then,  an  only  son,  and  heaps  of  money  : 
perhaps  it's  natural.     I  know  he  is  a  ghastly  hypocrite,"  added 


A    COMMISSION.  425 

Lord  Evelyn,  wlio  seemed  to  Lave  some  little  grudge  against  liis 
bi-other-in-law  in  prospect.  "It  was  too  bad  of  hira  to  go  egg- 
ing on  those  old  niegatlieria  to  talk  politics  until  they  were  red 
in  the  face,  denouncing  Free-trade,  and  abusing  the  Ballot,  and 
foretelling  the  ruin  of  the  fanner  as  soon  as  the  Education  Act 
began  to  work.     Then  he  pretended  to  be  on  their  side — " 

"  What  did  you  do  ?" 

"  I  sat  quiet.  I  was  afraid  I  might  be  eaten.  I  relapsed  into 
contemplation  ;  and  began  to  compose  a  volume  on  '  Tory  Types  : 
Some  Survivals  in  English  Politics.  For  the  Informnlion  of 
Town  Readers.' " 

"  Well,  now  you  have  done  your  duty,  and  cemented  the  alli- 
ance between  the  two  families  —  by  drinking  port -wine,  I  sup- 
pose— what  do  you  say  to  a  little  pleasure-trip  ?" 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  f  he  said,  looking  up  quickly.  "  Is  that  what 
your  note  meant  f ' 

"  The  fact  is,  Evelyn,"  he  said,  with  a  trifle  of  embarrassment, 
"  Xatalie  and  her  mother  are  in  Naples,  and  I  don't  know  pre- 
cisely in  what  circumstances.  I  am  a  little  anxious  about  them — 
I  should  like  to  know  more  of  their  surroundings:  why,  for  one 
thing,  I  don't  know  whether  they  have  any  money,  even.  I 
would  go  over  myself,  Evelyn,  but  the  truth  is  I  cannot — not 
very  well.  At  least  I  ought  not  to  go ;  and  I  thought,  if  you 
had  time — being  an  old  friend  of  Natalie's — you  would  like  to 
see  that  she  was  all  riglit." 

"  Where  is  Lind  V  said  Lord  Evcl\n,  suddenly. 

"  Lind  is  in  Italy  also,"  said  Brand,  evasively. 

"  Not  with  them  ?" 

"  Oh  no." 

There  was  rather  an  awkward  silence.     At  length  Brand  said, 

"  Something  very  serious  has  happened,  Evel3'n  ;  and  the  ques- 
tion is  whether,  in  the  interests  of  the  Society,  it  should  not  be 
kept  a  secret,  if  it  is  possible," 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  know  any  secret,"  Lord  Evelyn  said,  simply. 
"  I  am  willing  to  go  over  to  Naples  at  once,  if  I  can  be  of  any 
service." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you ;  I  thought  you  would  say  as  much," 
Brand  said,  still  hesitating.  "But  then  I  doubt  whether  you 
could  be  of  much  service  unless  you  understood  the  whole  situ- 
ation of  affairs.     At  present  only  two  over  here  know  what  has 


426  SUNRISE. 

occurred — Edwards  and  myself.  Yes,  I  tbink  you  must  know 
also.     Read  this  letter;  it  came  only  last  night." 

He  unlocked  a  drawer,  took  out  a  letter,  and  gave  it  to  Lord 
Evelyn,  who  read  it  slowly.  When  be  had  finished,  be  put  it  on 
the  table  without  a  word. 

"  You  understand  ?"  Brand  said,  calmly.  "  That  means  that 
Lind  is  to  be  punished  with  death  for  treacbery.  Don't  think 
about  me ;  I've  had  a  narrow  escape,  but  I  have  escaped — thanks 
to  Natalie's  courage  and  decision.  What  I  am  concerned  about 
is  the  effect  that  such  a  disclosure  might  have  on  the  fortunes  of 
the  Society.  Would  it  not  provoke  a  Avidespread  feeling  of  dis- 
trust?    AVouldn't  there  always  be  a  suspicion  ?" 

"  But  you  yourself.  Brand  !"  Evelyn  exclaimed,  in  amazement. 
"  Why,  you — I  thought  you  would  have  been  the  first  to  resign, 
after  such  an  escape." 

"  I  have  fought  all  through  that,  Evelyn,"  he  said,  absently. 
"  It  was  my  first  impulse — I  confess  it.  The  thought  of  being 
associated  with  such  men  sickened  me ;  I  despaired ;  I  wisbed 
they  had  never  been  found  out,  and  that  I  had  been  let  blindly 
go  on  to  the  end.  Well,  I  got  over  the  fit — with  a  struggle.  It 
was  not  reasonable,  after  all.  Surelv  one's  belief  in  the  future  of 
tbe  Society  ought  to  be  all  the  firmer  that  these  black  sheep  have 
been  thrust  out  ?  As  for  myself,  at  all  events,  I  ought  to  have 
more  hope,  not  less.  I  never  did  trust  Lind, as  you  know;  I  be- 
lieved in  his  work,  in  the  usefulness  of  it,  and  the  prospects  of  its 
success;  but  I  never  was  at  ease  in  his  presence;  I  was  glad  to 
get  away  to  my  own  work  in  the  north.  And  now,  with  the  way 
clearer,  why  should  one  think  of  giving  up  ?  To  tell  you  the 
truth,  Evelyn,  I  would  give  anything  to  be  in  America  at  the  pres- 
ent moment,  if  only  Natalie  and  her  mother  were  in  safety.  There 
is  a  chance  for  us  there  bigger  than  anything  Lind  ever  dreamed 
about.  You  know  the  Granges,  the  associations  of  the  '  Patrons 
of  Husbandry,'  that  were  founded  by  the  Scotchman  Saunders? 
It  is  an  immense  social  organization ;  the  success  of  it  has  been 
quite  unprecedented;  they  have  an  immense  power  in  their  hands. 
And  it  isn't  only  agriculture  they  deal  with ;  they  touch  on  poli- 
tics here  and  there ;  they  control  elections ;  and  the  men  they 
choose  are  invariably  men  of  integrity.  Well,  now,  don't  you  see 
this  splendid  instrument  ready-made?  From  what  I  bear  from 
Philadelphia—" 


A    COMMISSION.  4:^7 

Lord  Evelyn's  thouglits  were  el^cwliorc  than  in  Pliiladclpliia. 

"  You  must  tell  me  about  yourself,  Brand !"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Your  life  is  no  longer  in  danger,  then  ?     How  has  it  happened?" 

"  Oh,"  said  Brand,  somewhat  carelessly,  "  I  don't  know  all  the 
particulars  as  yet.  What  I  do  know  is  that  Natalie  and  her  moth- 
er disappeared  from  London ;  I  had  no  idea  whither  they  had 
gone.  Then  Calabressa  turned  up ;  and  I  heard  that  Natalie  had 
appealed  to  the  Council.  Fancy,  she,  a  young  girl,  had  had  the 
courage  to  go  and  appeal  to  the  Council !  Then  Calabressa  sus- 
pected something,  I  saw  by  his  questions ;  then  Lind,  Beratinsky, 
and  Reitzei  appear  to  have  been  summoned  to  Naples.  The  re- 
sult is  in  that  letter;  that  is  about  all  I  know." 

"  And  these  others  in  there  ?"  said  Lord  Evelyn,  glancing  to  the 
door. 

"They  know  nothing  at  all.  That  is  what  I  am  uncertain 
about:  whether  to  leave  the  disappearance  of  Lind  unaccounted 
for — merely  saying  he  had  been  summoned  away  by  the  Council — 
or  to  let  everybody  who  may  hear  of  it  understand  that,  powerful 
as  he  was,  he  had  to  succumb  to  the  laws  of  the  Society,  and  ac- 
cept the  penalty  for  his  error.  I  am  quite  uncertain ;  I  have  no 
instructions.  You  might  find  out  for  nie  in  Naples,  Evelyn,  if  you 
went  over  there — you  might  find  out  what  they  consider  advisable." 

"  You  are  in  Lind's  place,  then  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  he,  quickly,  and  with  a  slight  flush.  "  Ed- 
wards and  I  arc  merely  keeping  the  thing  going  until  matters  are 
settled.  Did  you  notice  whether  Molyneux  was  in  the  next  room 
when  you  came  through  V 

"  Yes,  he  was." 

"Then  excuse  me  for  a  minute  or  two.  I  want  to  speak  to 
you  further  about  Naples." 

Brand  was  gone  some  time,  and  Lord  Evelyn  was  left  to  pon- 
der over  these  strange  tidings.  To  him  they  were  very  joyful 
tidings;  for  ever  since  that  communication  was  made  to  him  of 
the  danger  that  threatened  his  friend's  life,  he  had  been  haunted 
by  the  recollection  that,  but  for  him.  Brand  would  in  all  probabil- 
ity have  never  heard  of  this  association.  It  was  with  an  infinite 
sense  of  personal  relief  that  he  now  knew  this  danger  was  past. 
Already  he  saw  himself  on  his  way  to  Naples,  to  find  out  the  no- 
ble girl  who  had  taken  so  bold  a  step  to  save  her  lover.  Not  yet 
had  darkness  fallen  over  these  two  lives. 


4-28  SUNRISE. 

Brand  returned,  carefully  shut  the  door  after  him,  and  seated 
himself  on  a  corner  of  the  table. 

"  You  see,  Evelyn,"  he  said,  quite  in  his  old  matter-of-fact  wa}^ 
"  I  can't  pretend  to  have  very  much  regret  over  what  has  happened 
to  Lind.  He  tried  to  do  me  an  ill  turn,  and  he  has  got  the  worst 
of  it;  that  is  all.  On  the  other  hand,  I  bear  him  no  malice: 
you  don't  want  to  hurt  a  man  when  he  is  down.  I  can  guess  that 
it  isn't  the  death-penalty  that  he  is  thinking  most  of  now.  I  can 
even  make  some  excuse  for  him,  now  that  I  see  the  story  plain. 
The  temptation  was  great ;  always  on  the  understanding  that  he 
was  against  my  marrying  his  daughter ;  and  that  I  had  been  sure 
of  for  some  time.  To  punish  me  for  not  giving  up  my  property, 
to  keep  Natalie  to  himself,  and  to  get  this  difficult  duty  securely 
undertaken  all  at  once — it  was  worth  while  trying  for.  But  his 
way  of  going  about  it  was  shabby.  It  was  a  mean  trick.  Well, 
there  is  nothing  more  to  be  said  on  that  point :  he  has  played — 
played  a  foul  game — and  lost." 

He  added,  directly  afterward, 

"  So  you  think  you  can  go  to  Naples  V 

"  Certainly,"  said  Evelyn,  with  promptness.  "  You  don't  know 
how  glad  I  am  about  this,  Brand.  If  you  had  come  to  grief  over 
your  relations  with  this  Society,  it  would  have  been  like  a  mill- 
stone hano-ina:  on  my  conscience  all  my  life.  And  I  shall  be  de- 
lighted  to  go  to  Italy  for  you.  I  should  like  to  see  the  look  on 
Natalie's  face." 

"You  will  probably  find  her  in  great  trouble,"  Brand  said, 
gravely. 

"In  trouble?" 

"  Naturally.  Don't  yon  see,  Evelyn,  she  could  not  have  fore- 
seen that  the  result  of  her  appeal  would  involve  the  destruction  of 
her  father.  It  is  impossible  to  believe  that  she  could  have  fore- 
seen that.  I  know  her;  she  would  not  have  stirred  hand  or  foot. 
And  now  that  this  has  been  discovered,  it  is  not  her  father's  guilt 
she  will  be  thinking  of ;  it  is  his  fate,  brought  about  indirectly  by 
herself.  You  may  be  sure,  Evelyn,  she  will  not  be  overjoyed  at 
the  present  moment.  All  the  more  reason  why  one  who  knows 
her  should  be  near  her.  I  have  no  idea  what  sort  of  people  are 
about  her;  I  should  be  more  satisfied  if  I  knew  you  were  there." 

"  I  am  ready  to  go ;  I  am  ready  to  start  this  afternoon,  as  I 
say,"  Evelyn  repeated ;  but  then  he  added,  with  some  hesitation : 


A    CUMMISSIUX.  429 

"  But  I  am  not  going  to  play  tlie  part  of  a  hypocrite,  Brand.  I 
could  not  pretend  to  sympatljize  with  her,  if  that  is  the  cause  of 
her  trouble ;  I  should  tell  her  it  served  her  father  right." 

"  You  could  not  be  so  brutal  if  you  tried,  Evelyn,"  Brand 
said;  "you  might  think  so:  you  could  not  tell  her  so.  But  I 
have  no  fear :  you  will  be  discreet  enough,  and  delicate  enough, 
when  you  see  her." 

"  And  what  am  I  to  say  from  you  ?" 

"From  me?"  he  said.  "  Oh,  you  can  say  I  thank  her  for  hav- 
ing saved  ray  life.  That  will  be  enough,  I  think :  she  will  un- 
derstand the  rest." 

"I  mean,  what  do  you  advise  her  to  do?  Ought  they  to  re- 
turn to  England  ?" 

"  I  think  so,  certainly.  Most  likely  she  will  be  waiting  there, 
trying  to  get  the  Council  to  reverse  the  sentence.  Having  been 
successful  in  the  one  case,  the  poor  child  may  think  she  ought  to 
succeed  in  the  other.  I  fear  that  is  too  much  to  expect.  How- 
ever, if  she  is  anxious,  she  may  try.  I  should  like  to  know  there 
was  somebody  near  her  she  could  rely  on — don't  you  understand, 
Evelyn  ? — to  see  that  she  is  situated  and  treated  as  you  would 
like  one  of  your  own  sisters  to  be." 

"I  see  what  it  is,  Brand,"  Lord  Evelyn  said,  laughing,  "you 
are  jealous  of  the  foreigners.  You  think  they  will  be  using  tooth- 
picks in  her  presence,  and  that  kind  of  thing." 

"  I  wish  to  know  that  she  and  her  mother  are  in  a  good  hotel," 
said  Brand,  simply,  "  with  proper  rooms,  and  attendance,  and — 
and  a  carriage :  women  can't  go  walking  through  these  beastly 
streets  of  Naples.  The  long  and  the  short  of  it  is,  Evelyn,"  he 
added,  with  some  embarrassment,  as  he  took  out  from  his  pocket- 
book  two  blank  checks,  and  sat  down  at  the  table  and  signed 
them,  "  I  want  you  to  play  the  part  of  big  brother  to  them,  don't 
you  know  ?  And  you  will  have  to  exercise  skill  as  well  as  force. 
Don't  you  see,  Calabressa  is  the  best  of  fellows ;  but  he  would 
think  nothing  of  taking  them  to  stay  in  some  vile  restaurant,  if 
.the  proprietor  were  politically  inclined — " 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  see :  garlic ;  cigarettes  during  breakfast,  right  op- 
posite the  ladies;  wine-glasses  used  as  finger-glasses:  well,  you 
are  a  thorough  Englishman,  Brand  !" 

"  I  suppose,  when  your  sisters  go  abroad,  you  see  that  they  are 
directed  to  a  proper  hotel  ?"  said  Brand,  somewhat  angrily. 


430  SUNRISE. 

*'  I  know  this,"  said  Evelyn,  laughing,  "  that  my  sisters,  and 
you,  and  Calabressa,  and  myself,  all  boiled  together,  wouldn't 
make  half  as  good  a  traveller  as  Natalie  Lind  is.  Don't  you  be- 
lieve she  has  been  led  away  into  any  shimmy  place,  for  the  sake 
of  politics  or  anything  else.  I  will  bet  she  knows  the  best  hotels 
in  Naples  as  well  as  you  do  the  Waldegrave  Club." 

"  At  any  rate,  you've  got  to  play  the  big  brother,  Evelyn ;  and 
it  is  my  affair,  of  course ;  I  will  not  allow  you  to  be  out  of  pock- 
et by  it.  Here  are  two  checks ;  you  can  fill  them  in  over  there 
when  you  see  how  matters  stand ;  ,  at  Rome,  will  cash  them." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  I  have  to  pay  their  hotel-bills?" 

"  If  they  have  plenty  of  money,  certainly  not ;  but  you  must 
find  out.  You  must  take  the  bull  by  the  horns.  It  is  far  more 
likely  that  they  have  so  little  money  that  they  may  be  becoming 
anxious.  Then  you  must  use  a  firm  hand — I  mean  with  Natalie. 
Her  mother  will  acquiesce.  And  you  can  tell  Natalie  that  if  she 
would  buy  something — some  dress,  or  something — for  the  moth- 
er of  old  Calabressa,  who  is  still  living — at  Spezia,  I  think — she 
would  make  the  old  chap  glad.  And  that  would  be  a  mark  of 
my  gratitude  also ;  you  see,  I  have  never  had  even  the  chance  of 
thanking  him  as  yet." 

Lord  Evelyn  rose. 

"  Very  well,"  said  he,  "  I  will  send  you  a  report  of  my  mission. 
How  am  I  to  find  them  ?" 

"  You  must  find  them  through  Calabressa,"  he  said,  "  for  I 
have  not  got  their  address.     So  you  can  start  this  evening  ?" 

"Yes,  certainly." 

"Then  I  will  telegraph  at  once  to  Calabressa  to  let  them  know 
you  are  coming.  Mind  you,  I  am  very  grateful  to  you,  Evelyn ; 
though  I  wish  I  was  going  in  your  stead." 

Lord  Evelyn  got  some  further  instructions  as  to  how  he  was  to 
discover  Calabressa  on  his  arrival  in  Naples ;  and  that  evening  he 
began  his  journey  to  the  south.  He  set  out,  indeed,  with  a  light 
heart.  He  knew  that  Natalie  would  be  glad  to  have  a  message 
from  England. 

At  Genoa  he  had  to  break  the  journey  for  a  day,  having  some 
commission  to  perform  on  behalf  of  the  Society :  this  was  a  part- 
ing bequest  from  Gathorne  Edwards.  Then  on  again ;  and  in 
due  time  he  entered  Naples. 

He  scarcely  noticed,  as  he  entered  the  vehicle  and  drove  away 


FAREWELL  I  431 

to  his  hotel,  what  barc-footod  lads  outside  the  station  were  bawl- 
ing, as  they  offered  the  afternoon  papers  to  the  newly-arrived 
passenixers.     "What  interest  had  he  in  Zaccatclli  T' 

But  what  the  news-venders  were  calling  aloud  was  this: 
"  The  death  of  the  Cardinal  Zaccatelli!     Death  of  ZaccatelU! 
The  death  of  the  Cardinal  Zaccatelli  P' 


CHAPTER  LYII. 

FAREWELL  ! 

"Natalusiika,"  said  the  tender  and  anxious  mother,  laying  her 
hand  on  the  girl's  head,  "  you  must  bestir  yourself.  If  you  let 
grief  eat  into  your  heart  like  that,  you  will  become  ill ;  and  what 
shall  we  do  then,  in  a  strange  hotel?  You  must  bestir  yourself; 
and  put  away  those  sad  thoughts  of  yours.  I  can  only  tell  you 
again  and  again  that  it  was  none  of  your  doing.  It  was  the  act 
of  the  Council :  how  could  you  help  it?  And  how  can  you  help 
it  now  ?  My  old  friend  Stefan  says  it  is  beyond  recall.  Come, 
Natalushka,  you  must  not  blame  yourself;  it  is  the  Council,  not 
vou,  who  have  done  this;  and  no  doubt  they  think  they  acted 
justly." 

Natalie  did  not  answer.  She  sighed  slightly.  Her  eyes  were 
turned  toward  the  blue  waters  beyond  the  Castello  dell'  Ovo. 

"  Child,"  the  mother  continued,  "  we  must  leave  Naples." 

"  Leave  Naples  I"  the  girl  cried,  with  a  sudden  look  of  alarm  ; 
"having  done  nothing — having  tried  nothing?"  Then  she  add- 
ed, in  a  lower  voice,  "  Well,  yes,  mother,  I  suppose  it  is  true  what 
they  say,  that  one  can  do  nothing  by  remaining.  Perhaps — per- 
haps we  ought  to  go  ;  and  yet  it  is  terrible." 

She  shivered  slightly  as  she  spoke. 

"You  see,  Natalushka,"  her  mother  said,  determined  to  dis- 
tract her  attention  somehow,  "  this  is  an  expensive  hotel ;  we 
must  be  thinking  of  what  money  we  have  left  to  take  us  back. 
\Ye  have  been  here  some  time ;  and  it  is  a  costly  journey,  all  the 
way  to  England." 

"  Oil,  but  not  to  England — not  to  England,  mother  !"  Natalie 
exclaimed,  quickly. 

"  Why  not  to  England,  then  ?" 


432  SUNRISE. 

"  Anywhere  else,  mother,"  the  daughter  pleaded.  "  If  you 
wish  it,  we  will  go  away :  no  doubt  General  von  Zoesch  knows 
best;  there  is  no  hope.  We  will  go  away  from  Naples,  mother; 
and — and  you  know  I  shall  not  be  much  of  a  tax  on  you.  We 
will  live  very  cheaply  somewhere ;  and  perhaps  I  could  help  a 
little  by  teaching  music,  as  Madame  Potecki  does.  Whenever 
you  wish  it,  I  am  ready  to  go." 

"But  why  not  to  England,  Natalushka?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  mother." 

She  rose  quickly,  and  passed  into  her  own  room  and  shut  the 
door. 

There  she  stood  for  a  second  or  two,  irresolute  and  breathless, 
like  one  who  had  just  escaped  into  a  place  of  refuge.  Then  her 
eye  fell  on  her  writing-desk,  which  was  on  a  side-table,  and  open. 
Slowly,  and  with  a  strange,  pained  expression  about  her  mouth, 
she  went  and  sat  down,  and  took  out  some  writing  materials,  and 
absently  and  mechanically  arranged  them  before  her.  Her  eyes 
were  tearless,  but  once  or  twice  she  sighed  deeply.  After  a  time 
she  beo'an  to  write  with  an  unsteady  hand : 

','My  dearest, — You  must  let  me  send  you  a  few  lines  of 
farewell ;  for  it  would  be  hard  if,  in  saying  good-bye,  one  were 
not  permitted  to  say  a  kind  word  or  tw^o  that  could  be  remem- 
bered afterward.  And  your  heart  will  have  already  told  you 
why  it  is  not  for  you  and  me  now  to  look  forward  to  the  happi- 
ness that  once  seemed  to  lie  before  us.  You  know  what  a  terri- 
ble result  has  followed  from  my  rashness;  but  then  you  are  free 
— that  is  something ;  for  the  rest,  perhaps  it  is  less  misery  to 
die,  than  to  live  and  know  that  you  have  caused  another's  death. 
You  remember,  the  night  they  played  Fidelio,  I  told  you  I 
should  always  try  to  remain  worthy  of  your  love  ;  and  how  could 
I  keep  that  promise  if  I  permitted  myself  to  think  of  enjoying 
a  happiness  that  was  made  possible  at  the  cost  of  my  father's 
life?  You  could  not  marry  a  woman  so  unnatural,  so  horrible: 
a  marriage  purchased  at  such  a  price  would  be  foredoomed ;  there 
would  be  a  guilty  consciousness,  a  life-long  remorse.  But  why 
do  I  speak  ?  Your  heart  tells  you  the  same  thing.  There  only 
remains  for  us  to  say  good-bye,  and  to  thank  God  for  the  gleam 
of  happiness  that  shone  on  us  for  a  little  time. 

"And  you,  my  dearest  of  friends,  you  will  send  me  also  a  little 


FAREWELL  !  433 

message,  tliat  I  can  treasure  as  a  remembrance  of  by-gone  days. 
And  you  must  tell  me  also  whether  what  has  occurred  has  deter- 
red you  from  going"  farther,  or  whether  you  still  remain  hoping 
for  better  things  iu  the  world,  and  resolved  to  do  what  you  can 
to  brinir  them  about.  That  would  be  a  creat  consolation  to  me, 
to  know  that  your  life  still  had  a  noble  object.  Then  the  world 
would  not  be  tjuite  blank,  either  for  you  or  for  me;  you  with 
your  work,  I  with  this  poor,  kind  mother  of  mine,  who  needs  all 
the  affection  I  can  give  her.  Then  I  hope  to  hear  of  you  fn)m 
time  to  time ;  but  my  mother  and  myself  do  not  return  to 
England. 

"  And  now  what  am  I  to  say,  being  so  far  away  from  you,  that 
will  sound  pleasant  to  you,  and  that  you  will  remember  after  with 
kindness?  I  look  back  now  over  the  time  since  I  have  known 
you,  and  it  appears  a  beautiful  dream — anxious  sometimes,  and 
troubled,  but  always  with  a  golden  future  before  it  that  almost 
bewildered  the  eyes.  And  what  am  I  to  say  of  your  goodness, 
so  unvarying  and  constant ;  and  your  thoughtf ulness ;  and  your 
great  unseltishness  and  outspokenness?  "When  was  there  the 
least  misunderstanding  between  us?  I  could  read  your  heart 
like  my  own.  Only  once,  you  remember,  was  there  a  chance  of 
a  shadow  coming  between  us — through  my  own  folly ;  and  yet 
perhaps  it  w\as  only  natural  for  a  girl,  fancying  that  everything 
was  going  to  be  smooth  and  happy  in  her  life,  to  look  back  on 
what  she  had  said  in  times  of  trouble,  and  to  be  afraid  of  having 
spoken  with  too  little  reserve.  But  then  you  refused  to  have 
even  the  slightest  lovers'  quarrel ;  you  laughed  away  my  folly. 
Do  you  wonder  if  I  was  more  than  ever  glad  that  I  had  given  my 
life  into  your  wise  and  generous  guidance?  And  it  is  not  now, 
when  I  am  speaking  to  you  for  the  last  time,  that  I  can  regret 
having  let  you  know  what  my  feelings  were  toward  you.  Oh, 
my  darling !  you  must  not  imagine,  because  these  words  that  I 
am  writing  are  cold  and  formal,  that  my  heart  beats  any  the  less 
quickly  when  I  think  of  you  and  the  days  we  were  together.  I 
said  to  you  that  I  loved  you ;  I  say  to  you  now  that  1  love  you 
with  my  whole  heart,  and  I  have  no  feeling  of  shame.  If  you 
were  here,  I  would  look  into  your  face  and  repeat  it  —  I  think 
without  a  blush ;  I  would  kiss  you ;  I  would  tell  you  that  I  hon- 
or you ;  that  I  had  looked  forward  to  giving  you  all  the  trust  and 
aileetiou  and  devotion  of  a  wife.     That  is  because  I  have  faith  in 

19 


434  SUNRISE. 

you ;  my  soul  is  open  and  clear  to  you ;  read,  and  if  you  can  find 
there  anything  but  admiration  for  your  nobleness  of  heart,  and 
earnest  hopes  for  your  happiness,  and  gratitude  to  you  for  all 
your  kindness,  then,  and  not  otherwise,  shall  I  have  cause  for 
shame. 

"  Now  I  have  to  send  you  my  last  word  of  good-bye — " 
[She  had  borne  up  so  far ;  but  now  she  put  the  pen  aside,  and 
bent  her  head  down  on  to  her  hands,  and  her  frame  was  shaken 
with  her  sobbing.     When  she  resumed,  she  could  scarcely  see  for 
the  bitter  tears  that  kept  welling  to  her  eyes.] 

" — and  you  will  think,  looking  at  these  cold  words  on  the 
paper,  that  it  was  easy  for  me  to  do  so.  It  has  not  been  so 
easy.  I  pray  God  to  bless  you,  and  to  keep  you  brave  and  true 
and  unselfish,  and  give  you  happiness  in  the  success  of  your  work. 
And  I  ask  a  line  from  you  in  reply — not  sad,  but  something  that 
I  may  look  at  from  time  to  time,  and  that  will  make  me  believe 
you  have  plenty  of  interests  and  hopes  in  the  world,  and  that 
you  do  not  altogether  regret  that  you  and  I  met,  and  were 
friends,  for  a  time.  Natalie. 


)> 


This  was  a  strange  thing  ^  she  took  another  sheet  of  paper, 
and  slowly  and  with  a  trembling  hand  wrote  on  it  these  words, 
^^Your  Wifey  That  was  all.  No  doubt  it  was  the  signature 
she  had  hoped  one  day  to  use.  She  regarded  it  long,  and  ear- 
nestly, and  sadly,  until,  indeed,  she  could  not  see  it  for  the  tears 
that  rose  afresh  into  her  eyes.  Then  she  tore  up  the  piece  of 
paper  hastily,  folded  her  letter  and  addressed  it,  without  sealing 
the  envelope,  and  carried  it  into  the  other  room. 

"  Read  it,  mother,"  she  said ;  and  she  turned  to  the  window  to 
conceal  her  tear-stained  face. 

The  mother  opened  the  letter  and  glanced  at  it. 

"  You  forget,  child,"  she  said,  "  I  know  so  little  English.  Tell 
me  what  it  is  you  have  written." 

So  she  was  forced  to  turn ;  and  apparently,  as  she  spoke,  she 
was  quite  calm  ;  but  there  was  a  darkness  underneath  her  eyes, 
and  there  was  in  her  look  something  of  the  worn,  sad  expression 
of  her  mother's  face.  Briefly  and  simply  she  repeated  the  sub- 
stance of  the  letter,  giving  no  reasons  or  justifications.  She 
seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that  her  decision  was  unavoidable, 
and  would  be  seen  to  be  so  by  every  one. 


farewell!  435 

"  Natalushka,"  the  mother  said,  looking  anxiously  at  the 
troubled  face,  "  do  yon  know  what  you  are  about  to  do  ?  It  is 
an  act  of  expiation  for  somctiiing  you  have  not  committed.'" 

"Could  I  do  otherwise?"  she  said.  "You,  mother:  would 
you  have  me  think  of  a  marriage  procured  through  my  father's 
death  ?     It  is  too  horrible  !" 

The  mother  went  to  her,  and  took  her  two  hands. 

"  My  poor  child,  are  you  to  have  no  happier  life  than  I  have 
had,  after  all  ?  "When  T  used  to  see  you,  I  used  to  say  to  myself, 
*Ah,  my  little  Natalushka  will  never  know  what  has  befallen  me 
— she  will  have  a  happy  life!'  I  could  see  you  laughing  as  you 
walked  in  the  gardens  there.  You  looked  so  pleased,  so  content, 
so  bright  and  cheerful.  And  now  you  also  are  to  have  a  life  of 
disappointment  and  sad  memories — " 

"Oh,  you  must  not  talk  like  that,  mother,"  the  girl  said,  hasti- 
ly, in  a  low  voice.  "Have  I  not  you  with  me?  We  shall  always 
be  together,  shall  we  not?  And  you  know  we  shall  not  have 
time  for  brooding  over  what  is  past;  we  shall  have  much  to  do; 
we  must  make  a  pleasant  small  home  somewhere.  Oh,  there  are 
many,  many  people  far  worse  off  in  the  world  than  we  are.  So 
you  must  think  of  getting  away  from  Naples,  mother ;  and  think 
of  where  you  would  like  to  live,  and  where  I  should  be  most  like- 
ly to  be  able  to  earn  a  little.  The  years  will  teach  us  to  forget — 
and — and —  And  now  you  know  why  I  do  not  wish  to  go  back 
to  England." 

Her  eyes  were  cast  down,  but  she  was  forcing  herself  to  speak 
quite  cheerfully. 

"  You  see,  mother,  my  knowing  English  is  a  great  advantage. 
If  we  were  to  go  to  one  of  the  towns  on  the  Riviera,  like  Nice 
or  Mentone,  where  so  many  English  families  are,  one  might  get 
pupils  who  would  want  to  learn  English  songs  as  well  as  Italian 
and  German — " 

"  Yes,  yes,  Natalushka ;  but  I  am  not  going  to  have  you  slave 
for  me.  The  little  allowance  that  my  cousins  send  me  will  do 
very  well  for  us  two,  though  you  will  not  get  so  fine  dresses. 
Then,  you  see,  Natalushka,  Mentone  or  Nice  would  be  a  dear 
place  to  live  in." 

"  Very  well,  mother,"  said  the  girl,  with  the  same  apparent 
cheerfulness,  "I  will  go  down  and  post  my  letter,  and  at  the  same 
time  get  the  loan  of  a  guide-book.     Then  we  shall   study  the 


436  SUNRISE. 

maps,  and  pick  out  a  nice,  quiet,  remote  little  place,  where  we  can 
live — and  forget." 

The  last  two  words  were  uttered  to  herself  as  she  opened  the 
door  and  went  out.  She  sighed  a  little  as  she  went  down  the 
staircase  —  that  was  all;  she  was  thinking  of  things  very  far 
away.  She  passed  into  the  hall,  and  went  to  the  bureau  for  some 
postage -stamps.  As  she  stood  there,  some  one,  unperceived, 
came  up  to  her :  it  was  Calabressa. 

"  Little  daughter,"  said  he,  in  a  trembling  voice. 

She  uttered  a  slight  cry,  and  shrunk  back. 

"  Little  daughter,"  said  he,  holding  out  his  hand. 

But  some  strange  instinct  possessed  her.  She  could  not  avoid 
touching  his  hand — or  the  tips  of  his  fingers,  rather — for  one 
brief  second  ;  then  she  turned  away  from  him  with  an  involun- 
tary shudder,  and  went  back  through  the  hall,  her  head  bent 
down,  Calabressa  stood  looking  after  her  for  a  moment  or  two, 
then  he  turned  and  left  the  hotel. 

He  walked  quickly :  there  were  tears  running  down  his  face. 
He  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left ;  he  was  talking  in 
a  broken  voice  to  himself ;  he  repeated  again  and  again,  "  No, 
she  shall  not  turn  away  from  me.  She  will  be  sorry  for  that 
soon.  She  will  say  she  should  not  have  crushed  the  heart  of  her 
old  friend  Calabressa." 

He  walked  out  to  Posilipo.  Near  the  villa  where  he  had  for- 
merly sought  the  representatives  of  the  Council  he  passed  an  old 
woman  who  was  sehing  fruit  by  the  roadside.  She  glanced  up 
at  him,  and  said, 

"  The  door  is  closed,  signore." 

"  The  door  must  be  opened,  good  mother,"  said  he,  scarcely 
reorardinor  her  as  he  hurried  on. 

Arrived  in  the  garden  of  the  villa,  his  summons  brought  out  to 
the  entrance  of  the  grotto  the  Secretary  Granaglia,  who  somewhat 
impatiently  told  him  that  it  was  quite  impossible  that  any  mem- 
ber of  the  Council  should  see  him. 

"  And  no  doubt  it  is  about  that  Lind  affair  ?" 

"  Indirectly  only,"  Calabressa  said.  "  Xo,  it  concerns  myself 
mostly." 

"  Quite  enough  time,  the  Council  think,  has  been  given  to  the 
Lind  affair.  I  can  tell  you,  my  friend,  there  are  more  important 
matters  stirring.     Now,  farewell ;  I  am  wanted  within." 


farewell!  437 

However,  by  dint  of  mncli  persuasion,  Calabressa  got  Granaglia 
to  take  in  a  incssao-c  to  Von  Zooseli.  And,  sure  enough,  his  antici- 
pations were  correct ;  the  good-natured,  bhitl  old  soldier  made  his 
appearance,  and  seemed  glad  to  get  a  breath  of  fresh  air  for  a 
minute  or  two. 

"  Well,  well,  Calabressa,  what  is  it  now  ?  Are  not  you  all  satis- 
fied ?  the  young  lady  with  her  sweetheart,  and  all  that  ?  You 
rogue !  you  guessed  pretty  rightly  ;  to  tell  them  the  news  was  no 
light  matter;  but  by -and -by  she  will  become  reconciled.  Her 
lover  is  to  be  envied ;  she  is  a  beautiful  child,  and  she  has  cour- 
age.    Well,  are  they  not  satisfied  ?" 

"  I  crave  your  pardon,  Excellency,  for  intruding  upon  you,"  Cala- 
bressa said,  in  a  sort  of  constrained  voice.  "  It  is  my  own  affair 
that  brings  me  here.  I  shall  not  waste  your  time.  Your  Excel- 
lency, I  claim  to  be  substitute  for  Ferdinand  Lind." 

The  tall  soldier  burst  out  laughing. 

"  What  the  devil  is  the  matter  with  you,  Calabressa :  have  you 
gone  mad  V 

For  a  second  Calabressa  stood  silent;  his  eyes  downcast;  his 
fingers  working  nervously  with  the  cap  he  held  in  his  hands. 

"  Your  Excellency,"  he  said,  as  if  struggling  to  repress  some 
emotion,  "it  is  a  simple  matter.  I  have  been  to  see  the  beautiful 
child  you  speak  of ;  I  addressed  her,  in  the  hall  of  the  hotel ;  she 
turned  away  from  me,  shuddering,  as  if  I  were  a  murderer — from 
me,  who  love  her  more  than  I  love  life.  Oh,  your  Excellency,  do 
not  smile  at  it ;  it  is  not  a  girlish  caprice ;  she  has  a  noble  heart ; 
it  is  not  a  little  thing  that  would  make  her  cruel.  I  know  what 
she  thinks — that  I  have  been  the  means  of  procuring  her  father's 
death.  Be  it  so.  I  will  give  her  father  his  life  again.  Take 
mine — what  do  I  care  ?" 

"  Nonsense,  nonsense,  my  Calabressa.  The  girl  has  bewitched 
you.  One  must  talk  to  her.  Take  your  life  in  exchange  for 
that  of  Lind  ?  Pooh !  We  cannot  send  good  men  after  bad ; 
you  are  too  valuable  to  us ;  whereas  he,  if  he  were  released, 
could  be  of  no  more  use  at  all.  It  is  a  generous  notion  on 
your  part,  friend  Calabressa,  but  it  is  quixotic ;  moreover,  impos- 
sible." 

"  You  forget.  Excellency,  that  I  can  claim  it,"  said  Calabressa, 
firmly.  "  Under  Article  V.  I  can  claim  to  be  the  substitute  of 
Ferdinand  Lind.     Ypur  Excellency  yourself  has  not  the  power  to 


438  SUNRISE. 

refuse  nic.  I  call  upon  you  to  release  Lind  from  tlie  death-pen- 
alty:  to-morrow  I  will  take  his  place;  then  you  can  send  a  mes- 
sage to — to  Natalie  Berezolyi's  daughter,  that,  if  I  have  Avronged 
her,  I  have  made  amends." 

Von  Zoesch  grew  more  serious ;  he  eyed  Calabressa  curiously. 
The  elder  man  stood  there  trembling  a  little  with  nervous  excite- 
ment, but  with  a  firm  look  on  his  face  :  there  was  no  doubt  about 
his  resolve. 

"  Friend  Calabressa,"  said  Von  Zoesch,  in  a  kindly  way,  "  it 
seems  as  if  you  had  transferred  your  old  love  for  Natalie  Bere- 
zolyi  to  Natalie's  daughter,  only  with  double  intensity  ;  but,  you 
see,  we  must  not  allow  you  to  sacrifice  yourself  merely  because  a 
girl  turns  her  heel  on  you.  It  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  "We  can- 
not afford  to  lose  you ;  besides,  it  is  monstrous  that  the  innocent 
should  suffer,  and  the  guilty  go  free — " 

"  The  articles  of  the  Society,  your  Excellency — " 

"  That  particular  article,  my  Calabressa,  was  framed  with  a  view 
to  encourage  self-sacrifice  and  generosity,  no  doubt ;  but  not  with 
a  view,  surely,  to  any  such  extreme  madness  as  this.  No.  The 
fact  is,  I  had  no  time  to  explain  the  circumstances  of  the  case  to 
the  young  lady,  or  I  could  easily  have  shown  her  how  you  were 
no  more  involved  than  herself  in  procuring  the  decree  against  her 
father.  To-day  I  cannot ;  to-morrow  I  cannot ;  the  day  after  to- 
morrow, I  solemnly  assure  you,  I  will  see  her,  and  reason  with  her, 
and  convince  her  that  you  have  acted  throughout  as  her  best  friend 
only  could  have  done.  You  are  too  sensitive,  my  Calabressa :  ah, 
is  it  not  the  old  romance  recalled  that  is  making  you  so  ?  But 
this  I  promise  you,  that  she  shall  beg  your  pardon  for  having 
turned  away  from  you." 

"Then,"  said  Calabressa,  with  a  little  touch  of  indignant  pride, 
"then  your  Excellency  imagines  that  it  is  my  vanity  that  has  been 
wounded  ?" 

"No;  it  is  your  heart.  And  she  Avill  be  sorry  for  having 
pained  a  true  friend :  is  not  that  as  it  should  be  ?  AVhy,  your 
proposal,  if  she  agreed  to  it,  what  would  be  the  result?  You 
would  stab  her  with  remorse.  PVjr  this  momentary  slight  you 
would  say, '  See,  I  have  killed  myself.  Learn  now  that  Calabressa 
loved  you.'  But  that  would  be  very  like  revenge,  my  Calabressa ; 
and  you  ought  not  to  think  of  taking  revenge  on  the  daughter  of 
Natalie  Berezolyi." 


A    SACRIFICE.  439 

*'  Your  Excellency — " 

Calubressa  was  about  to  protest ;  but  he  was  stopped. 

"  Leave  it  to  me,  my  friend.  The  day  after  to  -  morrow  we 
shall  liave  more  leisure.  Meanwhile,  no  more  thoughts  of  quix- 
otism.    Addio  r 


CHAPTER  LYIII. 

A    SACRIFICE. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  say  whether  Calabressa  was  altofjcther 
sincere  in  claiming  to  become  the  substitute  for  Ferdinand  Lind, 
or  whether  he  was  not  practising  a  little  self-deception,  and  paci- 
fying his  wounded  pride  and  affection  by  this  outburst  of  gener- 
osity, while  secretly  conscious  that  his  offer  would  not  be  accept- 
ed. However,  what  Calabressa  had  declared  himself  ready  to  do, 
in  a  fit  of  wild  scntimentalism,  another  had  already  done,  in  ter- 
rible earnest.  A  useless  life  had  suddenly  become  ennobled  by 
a  trao^ic  and  self-sacrificing  death. 

Two  days  after  Lord  Evelyn  had  left  for  Naples,  Brand  and 
Gathorne  Edwards  were  as  usual  in  the  cliambers  in  Lisle  Street, 
and,  the  business  of  the  morning  being  mostly  over,  they  were 
chattinc:  to"-ether.  There  was  a  brighter  look  on  George  Brand's 
face  than  had  been  there  for  many  a  day. 

"  What  an  indefatigable  fellow  that  Molyneux  is !"  Edwards 
was  saying. 

"  It  is  a  o;ood  thins:  some  one  can  do  something,"  Brand  an- 
swered.  "  As  for  me,  I  can't  settle  down  to  anything.  I  feel  as 
if  I  had  been  living  on  laughing-gas  these  last  two  days.  I  feel 
as  if  I  had  come  alive  again  into  another  world,  and  was  a  little 
bit  bewildered  just  as  yet.  However,  I  suppose  we  shall  get 
shaken  into  our  new  positions  by-and-by ;  and  the  sooner  they 
let  us  know  their  final  arrangements  the  bettor." 

"  As  for  me,"  said  Edwards,  carelessly,  "  now  that  I  have  left 
the  Museum  I  don't  care  where  I  may  have  to  go." 

At  this  moment  a  note  was  brought  in  by  the  old  German,  and 
banded  to  Edwards.  He  glanced  at  the  straggling,  almost  illegi- 
ble, address  in  pencil  on  the  dirty  envelope. 

"  Well,  this  is  too  bad,"  he  said,  impatiently. 


440  SUNRISE, 

"  What  is  it  ?" 

"That  fellow  Kirski.  He  is  off  again,  I  can  see  by  his  writ- 
ing. He  never  was  very  good  at  it ;  but  this  is  the  handwriting 
of  delirium  tremens." 

lie  opened  the  letter,  and  glanced  at  the  first  page. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  said,  in  disgust,  "  he's  off  again,  clearly." 

"  What  does  he  say  ?" 

"  The  usual  rigmarole — only  not  quite  so  legible  :  the  beautiful 
angel  who  was  kind  to  him — he  has  taken  her  portrait  from  its 
hiding-place — it  is  sacred  now — no  more  public-house — well,  it 
looks  rather  as  if  he  had  been  to  several." 

At  this  point,  however,  Edwards's  pale,  high  forehead  flushed  a 
little. 

"  I  wish  I  had  not  told  him  ;  but  he  speaks  of  Miss  Lind  being 
in  trouble — and  he  says  God  never  meant  one  so  beautiful  and 
kind  as  she  to  be  in  trouble — and  if  her  father — " 

His  face  grew  grave. 

"AVhatisthis?" 

He  turned  the  leaf  suddenly,  and  glanced  at  the  remainder  of 
the  letter. 

"  Good  God !  w^hat  does  the  man  mean  ?  What  has  he  done  ?" 
he  exclaimed. 

His  face  was  quite  pale.  The  letter  dropped  from  his  hands. 
Then  he  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"Come,  Brand  —  quick — quick!"  he  said,  hurriedly.  "You 
must  come  with  me — " 

"  But  what  is  the  matter  ?"  Brand  said,  following  him  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Edwards,  almost  incoherently.  "  He  may 
be  raving — it  may  only  be  drunkenness — but  he  says  he  is  about 
to  kill  himself  in  place  of  Lind  :  the  young  lady  shall  not  be 
troubled — she  was  kind  to  him,  and  lie  is  grateful.  I  am  to  send 
her  a  messajxe." 

By  this  time  the  two  friends  were  hurrying  to  the  dingy  little 
thoroughfare  in  which  Kirski  had  his  lodgings. 

"  Don't  alarm  yourself,  Edwards,"  said  Brand ;  "  he  has  broken 
out  again,  that  is  all" 

"  I  am  not  so  sure.  He  was  at  his  work  yesterday,  and  sober 
enough." 

"  His  brain  may  have  given  way,  then ;  it  was  never  very  strong. 


A    SACRIFICE.  441 

But  these  continual  ravinors  about  murder  or  suicide  arc  dann-or- 
ous;  tlioy  will  develop  into  homicidal  mania,  most  likely;  and 
if  he  cannot  get  at  his  enemy  Michaicloflf  he  may  do  a  mischief 
to  somebody  else." 

"  I  hope  he  has  not  done  a  mischief  to  himself  already,"  said 
Edwards,  who  had  had  more  opportunities  than  his  companion  of 
studying  the  workings  of  Kirski's  disordered  brain. 

Tiiey  reached  the  house  and  knocked  at  the  door.  The  land- 
lady made  licr  appearance. 

"  Is  Kirski  in  the  house  ?"  Edwards  asked,  eagerly. 

"  No,  he  ain't,"  she  said,  with  but  scant  courtesy. 

"Thank  God!"  he  exclaimed,  in  great  relief.  "You  are  sure? 
He  went  out  to  his  work  as  usual  ?" 

"  How  should  I  know  ?"  said  the  woman,  who  was  evidently 
not  on  good  terms  with  her  lodger. 

"lie  had  his  breakfast  as  usual?" 

"His  breakfast !"  she  said,  scornfully.  "  No,  he  hadn't.  He 
may  pick  up  his  breakfast  about  the  streets,  like  a  cat;  but  he 
don't  have  any  'ere.  And  a  cat  he  is,  sneaking  up  and  down  the 
stairs :  how  do  I  know  whether  he  is  in  the  house  or  whether  he 
ain't  ?" 

At  this  Edwards  turned  pale  again  with  a  sudden  fear.  Brand 
interposed. 

"  You  don't  know  ?  Then  show  us  his  room  ;  we  will  see  for 
ourselves." 

He  passed  the  woman,  leaving  her  to  shut  the  door,  and  went 
into  the  small  dark  passage,  waiting  for  her  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs.  Grumbling  to  herself,  she  came  along  to  show  them  the 
way.  It  did  not  pay  her  to  waste  her  time  like  this,  she  said,  for 
a  lodger  who  took  no  food  in  the  house,  and  spent  his  earnings 
in  the  gin-shop.  She  should  not  be  surprised  if  they  were  to 
lind  him  asleep  at  that  time  of  the  day.     He  had  ways  like  a  cat. 

The  landing  they  reached  was  as  dark  as  the  staircase;  so  that 
when  she  turned  a  handle  and  tiunga  door  open  there  was  a  sud- 
den glare  of  light.  At  the  same  moment  she  uttered  a  shrill 
scream,  and  retreated  backward.  She  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
some  horrible  thing — she  hardly  knew  what.  It  was  the  body 
of  the  man  Kirski  lying  prone  on  the  uncnrpctcd  floor,  his  hands 
clinched.     There  was  a  dark  pool  of  blood  beside  him. 

Edwards  sunk  shuddering  into  a  chair,  sick  and  faint.     He 

19* 


442  SUNRISE. 

could  neither  move  nor  speak ;  lie  dared  hardly  look  at  the  ob- 
ject lying  there  in  the  wan  light.  But  Brand  went  quickly  for- 
ward, and  took  hold  of  one  of  these  clinched  hands.  It  was  quite 
cold.  He  tried  to  turn  over  the  body,  but  relinquished  that  effort. 
The  cause  of  death  was  obvious  enough.  Kirski  had  stabbed  him- 
self with  one  of  the  tools  used  in  his  trade;  either  he  had  delib- 
erately lain  down  on  the  floor  to  make  sure  of  driving  the  weap- 
on home,  or  he  had  accidentally  fallen  so  after  dealins;  himself  the 
fatal  blow.     Apparently  he  had  been  dead  for  some  hours. 

Brand  rose.  The  landlady  at  the  door  was  alternately  scream- 
ing and  sobbing ;  declaring  that  she  was  ruined  ;  that  not  another 
lodger  would  come  to  her  house. 

"Be  quiet,  woman,  and  send  to  the  police-station  at  once," 
Brand  said.     "  Wait  a  moment:  when  did  you  last  see  this  man?" 

"  This  morning,  sir — early  this  morning,  sir,"  said  she,  in  a  pro- 
fusion of  tears  over  her  prospective  loss.  "  lie  came  down-stairs 
with  a  letter  in  his  hand,  and  there  was  twopence  for  my  little 
boy  to  take  it  when  he  came  home  from  school.  How  should  I 
know  he  had  gone  back,  sir,  to  make  away  with  himself  like  that, 
and  ruin  a  poor  widow  woman,  sir?" 

"  Have  you  a  servant  in  the  house  ?" 

"No,  sir;  no  one  but  myself — and  me  dependent — " 

"Then  go  at  once  to  the  police-station,  and  tell  the  inspector 
on  duty  what  has  happened.  You  can  do  that,  can't  you  ?  You 
will  do  no  good  by  standing  crying  there,  or  getting  the  neighbors 
in.     I  will  stop  here  till  you  come  back." 

She  went  away,  leaving  Brand  and  his  paralyzed  companion 
with  this  ghastly  object  lying  prone  on  the  floor. 

"Poor  devil!"  Brand  said;  "his  troubles  are  at  an  end  now. 
I  wonder  whether  I  should  lift  him  on  to  the  bed,  or  wait  until 
they  come." 

Then  another  thought  struck  him ;  and  he  turned  quickly  to 
his  companion,  who  sat  there  horrified  and  helpless. 

"  Edwards,"  said  he,  "  yon  must  pull  yourself  together.  The 
police  will  ask  you  what  you  know  about  this  affair.  Then  you 
will  have  to  give  evidence  before  the  coroner's  inquest.  There  is 
nothing  material  for  you  to  conceal ;  but  still,  no  mention  must 
be  7nadc  of  Lisle  Street,  do  you  understand  ?" 

Edwards  nodded.  His  face  was  still  of  a  ghastly  white.  Then 
he  rose,  and  said, 


A    SACRIFICE.  44y 

"  Let  lis  go  somewhere  else,  Brand." 

His  conipunioii  took  him  tlu\vn-st;iirs  into  the  lamllaily's  par- 
lor, and  got  him  a  glass  of  water.  Apparently  there  was  not  a 
human  being  in  tlic  lioiise  hut  themselves, 

"Do  you  understand,  Edwards?  Give  your  private  address — 
not  Lisle  Street.  Tlien  you  can  tell  the  story  simply  enough  : 
that  unfortunate  fellow  came  all  the  way  from  Russia — virtually 
a  maniac — you  can  tell  them  his  story  if  you  like  ;  or  shall  I  ?" 

"Yes,  yes.  It  has  been  too  much  for  me,  Brand,  You  see,  I 
had  no  business  to  tell  liim  about  Lind — " 

"  The  poor  wretch  would  liave  ended  his  days  miserably  any- 
how, no  doubt  in  a  mad-house,  and  probably  after  killing  some 
quite  innocent  person.  By-tlie-way,  they  will  ask  you  how  you 
came  to  suspect.     Where  is  that  letter  ?" 

Edwards  took  it  from  liis  pocket, 

"  Tear  it  up." 

lie  did  so ;  but  Brand  took  the  fragments  and  put  them  in  his 
own  pocket. 

"  You  can  tcll  thorn  lie  wrote  to  you,  and  from  the  madness 
of  the  letter  you  thought  something  was  wrong.  You  destroyed 
the  letter.  But  where  is  Natalie's  portrait? — that  must  not  fall 
into  their  hands." 

He  instantly  went  up-stairs  again,  leaving  his  companion  alone. 
There  was  something  strange  in  his  entering  this  room  where  the 
corpse  lay ;  it  seemed  necessary  for  him  to  walk  on  tiptoe :  he 
uncovered  his  head.  A  glance  round  the  almost  empty  room 
speedily  showed  him  what  he  wanted ;  there  was  a  small  wooden 
casket  in  a  dusky  corner  by  the  window,  and  that,  he  made  no 
doubt,  was  the  box  the  unhappy  Kirski  had  made  to  contain  Na- 
talie's portrait,  and  that  he  had  quite  recently  dug  out  from  its 
place  of  concealment.  Brand  was  surprised,  however,  to  find  the 
casket  empty.  Then  he  glanced  at  tlie  tireplace ;  there  was  a 
little  black  dust  there,  as  of  burnt  card-board.  Then  he  made 
sure  that  Kirski  himself  had  taken  steps  to  prevent  the  portrait 
falling  into  alien  hands. 

Beside  the  box,  however,  lay  a  piece  of  paper,  written  over  in 
pencil.  Tie  took  it  up  and  made  out  that  it  was  chietly  ill-spelled 
Italian  :  "  Whatever  punishment  may  be  decreed  against  any  Offi- 
cer, Companion,  or  Friend  of  the  Society,  may  he  vicariously  borne 
by  any  other  Officer,  Companion,  or  Friend,  who,  of  his  own  full 


444  SUNRISE. 

and  free  consent,  acts  as  substitute — the  orir/mal  offender  heconilny 
thereby  redeemed,  acquitted,  and  released.''''  Then  followed  some 
words  which  he  could  not  make  out  at  all. 

He  carried  the  paper  down-stairs. 

"  He  appears  to  have  burnt  the  photograph,  Edwards ;  but  he 
has  left  this — see." 

Edwards  glanced  at  the  trembling  scrawl  with  a  slight  shiver ; 
the  handwriting  was  the  same  as  that  he  had  received  half  an 
hour  before. 

"  It  is  only  Article  V.,"  he  said.  "  The  poor  fellow  used  to 
keep  repeating  that,  after  Calabressa  and'l  taught  him  in  Ven- 
ice." 

"  But  what  is  written  below  ?"  _ 

Edwards  forced  himself  to  take  the  paper  in  his  hands,  and  to 
scan  more  carefully  its  contents. 

"It  is  Russian,"  he  said,  "but  so  badly  written.  'J/y  life  is 
not  endurable  longer,  but  I  shall  die  happy  in  be'incj  of  service  to 
the  beautiful  angel  who  was  kind  to  me.  Tell  her  she  need  not  be 
in  trouble  any  more.  I  forgive  Pavel  Michaieloff,  as  my  masters 
desire.  I  do  not  wish  my  wife  or  my  neighbors  to  know  what  I 
have  done.^  " 

"  This  we  have  no  right  to  meddle  with,"  Brand  said,  thought- 
fully. "  I  will  put  it  back  where  I  got  it.  But  you  see,  Ed- 
wards, you  will  have  to  admit  that  you  were  aware  this  poor 
wretch  was  in  communication  with  some  secret  society  or  other. 
Further  than  that  you  need  say  nothing.  The  cause  of  his  sui- 
cide is  clear  enouo'h :  the  man  was  mad  when  he  came  to  Eng- 
land  with  that  wild  cravinjT  for  reveno-e  in  his  brain." 

Brand  carried  the  paper  up-stairs  again,  and  placed  it  where  he 
had  found  it.  At  the  same  moment  there  was  a  sound  of  foot- 
steps below;  and  presently  the  police-officers,  accompanied  by 
the  landlady  and  by  Gathorne  Edwards,  who  had  somewhat  re- 
covered his  composure,  entered  to  hold  their  preliminary  investi- 
gation. The  notes  that  the  inspector  took  down  in  his  pocket- 
book  were  brief  enough,  and  were  mostly  answers  to  questions 
addressed  to  Brand,  regarding  what  he  knew  of  the  deceased 
man's  circumstances.  The  police -surgeon  had  meanwhile  had 
the  body  placed  on  the  bed ;  he  also  was  of  opinion  that  the 
man  had  been  dead  some  hours.  Edwards  translated  for  the  in- 
spector the  writing  on  the  paper  found  lying  there,  and  said  he 


A    SACRIFICE.  445 

believed  Kirski  had  some  connection  with  .a  secret  society,  but  tliat 
it  was  obvious  he  had  destroyed  iiiniself  from  despair;  and  that, 
indeed,  the  unliappy  man  had  never  been  properly  right  in  his 
mind  since  ever  he  liad  known  Iiiiii,  thougli  they  had  hoped,  by 
fettino-  him  to  do  steady  work  and  sure  wages,  to  wean  him  away 
from  broodinf  over  tlie  wrongs  that  had  driven  him  from  his  na- 
tive  country.  Edwards  gave  the  officer  his  address,  Brand  saying 
that  lie  liad  to  leave  England  that  same  night,  and  would  not  be 
available  for  any  further  inquiry,  but  that  his  friend  knew  pre- 
cisely as  much  about  the  case  as  himself.  Then  he  and  his  com- 
panion left. 

Edwards  breathed  more  freely  when  he  got  out  of  the  house, 
even  into  the  murky  atmosphere  of  Soho. 

"  It  is  a  tragic  end,"  he  said,  "  but  perhaps  it  is  the  best  that 
could  have  befallen  him.  I  called  yesterday  at  the  shop,  and 
found  he  was  there,  and  sober,  thougli  I  did  not  see  him.  I  was 
surprised  to  find  he  had  gone  back." 

"  I  thought  he  had  solemnly  promised  you  not  to  drink  any 
more,"  Brand  said. 

"  nc  had  made  the  same  promises  before.  He  took  to  drink 
merely  to  forget — to  drown  this  thing  that  was  working  in  his 
brain.  If  he  had  lived,  it  would  have  been  the  old  story  over 
again.  He  would  have  buried  the  portrait  in  St.  James's  Park, 
as  he  did  before,  gone  back  to  the  gin-shop,  and  in  conrse  of  time 
drank  himself  to  death.  This  end  is  terrible  enough,  but  there 
is  a  touch  of  something  fine  about  it — it  redeems  much.  What 
a  worship  the  poor  fellow  had  for  Miss  Lind,  to  be  sure ;  because 
she  was  kind  to  him  when  he  was  half  mad  with  his  wrongs.  I 
remember  he  used  to  go  about  the  churches  in  Venice  to  see  if 
any  of  the  saints  in  the  pictures  were  like  her,  but  none  satisfied 
hiin.  Yon  will  send  her  a  message  of  what  he  has  done  to  repay 
her  at  last  ?" 

"  I  will  take  it  myself,"  said  Brand,  hastily.  "  I  ranst  go,  Ed- 
wards.    You  must  get or to  come  to  these  chambers — 

any  one  you  may  think  of.     I  must  go  myself,  and  at  once." 
"  To-night,  then  T 

"  Yes,  to-night.     It  is  a  pity  I  troubled  Evelyn  to  go." 
"  He  would  stay  a  day,  perhaps  two  days,  in  Genoa.     It  is 
just  possible  you  might  overtake  him  by  going  straight  through." 
"  Yes,"  said  Brand,  with  a  strange  smile  on  his  face,  as  if  lie 


446  SUNRISE. 

were  looking  at  sometliing  far  away,  and  it  was  scarcely  to  Lis 
companion  tbat  he  spoke,  "  I  think  I  will  go  straight  through. 
I  should  not  like  any  one  but  myself  to  take  Natalie  this  news." 

They  walked  back  to  the  chambers,  and  Brand  began  to  put 
things  in  order  for  his  going. 

"  It  is  rather  a  shame,"  he  said,  during  this  business,  "for  one 
to  be  glad  that  this  poor  wretch  has  come  to  such  an  end ;  but 
what  better  could  have  happened  to  him,  as  you  say?  You  will 
see  about  a  decent  funeral,  Edwards ;  and  I  will  leave  you  some- 
thing to  stop  the  mouth  of  that  caterwauling  landlady.  You  can 
tell  them  at  the  inquest  that  he  has  no  relations  in  this  country." 

By-and-by  he  said, 

"  If  there  are  any  debts,  I  will  pay  them  ;  and  if  no  one  has 
any  objection  I  should  like  to  have  that  casket,  to  show  to — to 
Miss  Lind.     Did  you  see  the  carving  on  it  ?" 

"  I  looked  at  it" 

"  He  must  have  spent  many  a  night  working  at  that.  Poor 
wretch,  I  wish  I  had  looked  after  him  more,  and  done  more  for 
him.  One  always  feels  that  when  people  are  dead,  and  it  is  too 
late." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  could  have  done  more  for  him,"  Ed- 
wards said,  honestly  enough  ;  though  indeed  it  was  ^le  himself 
who  had  been  Kirski's  chief  protector  of  late. 

Before  evening  came  Brand  had  put  affairs  in  proper  trim  for 
his  departure,  and  he  left  London  with  a  lighter  heart  than  had 
been  his  for  a  long  time.  But  ever  and  anon,  as  he  journeyed  to 
the  south,  with  a  wonderful  picture  of  joy  and  happiness  before 
him,  his  mind  would  wander  away  back  to  the  little  room  in 
Soho,  and  he  could  see  the  unhappy  Russian  lying  dead,  with  the 
message  left  behind  for  the  beautiful  angel  who  had  been  kind 
to  him  ;  and  he  could  not  but  think  that  Kirski  would  have 
died  happier  if  he  had  known  that  Natalie  herself  would  come 
some  day  and  put  flowers,  tenderly  and  perhaps  even  with  tears, 
on  his  grave.  Who  that  knew  her  could  doubt  but  that  that 
would  be  her  first  act  on  returning  to  England  ?  At  least,  Brand 
thought  so. 


NATALIE    SPEAKS.  44  7 


CUAi'TEii    LIX. 
NATALIE      SPEAKS. 

It  was  about  five  in  the  morning,  and  as  yet  dark,  when  George 
Brand  arrived  in  Naples.  He  wrote  a  note  asking  Calabressa  to 
call  on  liiin,  and  left  it  to  be  despatched  by  the  porter  of  the  ho- 
tel;  then  he  lay  down  for  an  hour  or  two,  without  undressing, 
for  he  was  somewhat  fatigued  with  his  continuous  travelling. 

On  going  down  to  breakfast  he  got  Calabressa's  answer,  saying 
he  was  very  sorry  he  could  not  obey  the  commands  of  his  dear 
friend  Monsieur  Brand,  because  he  was  on  duty  ;  but  that  he 
could  be  found,  if  Monsieur  Brand  would  have  the  goodness  to 
seek  out  the  wine-vaults  of  one  Tommaso,  in  the  Vicolo  Isotta. 
There,  also.  Monsieur  Brand  would  see  some  others. 

Accordingly,  after  breakfast  Brand  set  out,  leisurely  and  ob- 
servantly, for  he  did  not  think  there  was  any  great  hurry.  It 
was  a  beautiful,  brisk,  breezy  morning,  though  occasionally  a 
squall  of  rain  swept  across  the  roughened  sea,  blotting  out  Capri 
altogether.  There  were  crisp  gleams  of  white  on  the  far  plain, 
and  there  was  a  dazzling  mist  of  sunlight  and  sea-foam  where  the 
■waves  sprung  high  on  the  rocks  of  the  citadel ;  and  even  here 
in  the  busy  streets  there  was  a  fresh  sea -odor  as  the  gusts  of 
the  damp  wind  blew  along.  Naples  was  alive  and  busy,  but 
Brand  regarded  this  swarming  population  with  but  little  interest. 
He  knew  that  none  of  his  friends  would  be  out  and  abroad  so 
early. 

In  due  time  he  found  out  the  gloomy  little  court  and  the  wine- 
vaults.  Moreover,  he  had  no  trouble  with  the  ghoul-like  Tom- 
maso, who  had  apparently  received  his  instructions.  No  sooner 
had  Brand  inquired  for  Calabressa  than  he  was  invited  to  follow 
liis  guide,  who  waddled  along,  candle  in  hand,  like  some  over- 
grown orang-outang.  At  length  thoy  reached  the  staircase,  where 
there  was  a  little  more  light, "and  here  he  found  Calabressa  wait- 
ing to  receive  him.     Calabressa  seemed  overjoyed. 

"Yes,  yes,  my  dear  Monsieur  Brand,  you  have  arrived  oppor- 


448  SUNRISE. 

tunelv.  You  also  will  remonstrate  with  that  beautiful  child  for 
having  fallen  out  with  her  old  friend  Calabressa.  Think  of  it  1 
one  who  would  wear  his  knees  out  to  serve  her ;  and  when  I  go 
to  the  hotel—" 

"  One  word,  Calabressa,"  said  Brand,  as  he  followed  him  into  a 
small  empty  room.     "  Tell  me,  is  Lind  in  Naples  f 

"  Assuredly.  lie  has  petitioned  for  a  year's  grace :  he  wishes 
to  join  the  Montenegrins." 

"  He  will  have  more  than  a  year's  grace-,"  said  Brand,  gravely. 
"Something  has  happened.  You  remember  the  man  Kirski ? 
Well,  he  has  killed  himself  to  release  Lind." 

"  Just  Heaven !"  Calabressa  exclaimed ;  but  the  exclamation 
was  one  of  astonishment,  not  in  the  least  of  regret.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  began  to  speak  in  tones  of  exultation. 

"  Ah,  let  us  hear  now  what  the  beautiful  child  will  say  !  For 
who  was  it  who  reclaimed  that  savage  animal,  and  taught  him 
the  beautifulness  of  self-sacrifice,  and  showed  him  how  the  most 
useless  life  could  be  made  serviceable  and  noble  ?  A\Tio  but  I  ? 
He  was  my  pupil :  I  first  watched  the  light  of  virtue  beginning 
to  radiate  throuo;h  his  savage  nature.  That  is  what  I  will  ask  the 
beautiful  Xatalusbka  when  I  see  her.  Perhaps  she  will  not  again 
turn  away  from  an  old  friend — " 

"  You  seem  to  forget,  Calabressa,  that  your  teaching  has  brought 
this  man  to  his  death,"  Brand  said. 

"Why  not?"  said  Calabressa,  with  a  perfectly  honest  stare. 
"  WHiy  not  ?  W^as  it  not  well  done  ?  Was  it  not  a  fitting  end  ? 
Why  I,  even  I,  who  watched  him  long,  did  not  expect  to  see 
that:  his  savagery  falling  away  from  him  bit  by  bit;  himself 
rising  to  this  grand  height,  that  he  should  give  his  life  to  save 
another:  I  tell  you  it  is  a  beautiful  thing;  he  has  understood 
what  I  taught  him ;  he  has  seen  clear." 

Calabressa  was  much  excited,  and  very  proud.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  he  had  saved  a  soul,  as  he  remarked  in  his  ornate 
French. 

"  Perhaps  it  has  all  happened  for  the  best,"  Brand  said ;  "  per- 
haps it  was  the  best  that  could  have  befallen  that  poor  devil,  too. 
But  you  are  mistaken,  Calabressa,  about  his  reasons  for  giving  up 
his  life  like  that.  It  was  not  for  the  sake  of  a  theory  at  all, 
admirable  as  your  teachings  may  have  been :  it  was  for  the  sake 
of  Natalie  Lind.     He  heard  she  was  in  trouble,  and  he  learned 


NATALIE    SPEAKS.  449 

the  C.1USC  of  it.     It  was  gratitude  to  Lor — it  was  love  for  her — 
that  made  iiim  do  this." 

Calabrcssa  changed  his  ground  in  an  instant. 

"  Assuredly — assuredly,  my  dear  friend :  do  you  tliink  I  fail 
to  understand  that — I,  who  perceived  that  he  worsliippcd  that 
beautiful  child  as  if  slie  were  a  saint,  and  more  than  all  the  saints 
— do  you  think  I  cannot  mark  that — the  sentiment  of  love,  the 
fervor  of  worship,  growing  brighter  and  purer  day  by  day  until 
it  bursts  into  the  beautiful  flame  of  self-sacrifice  ?  My  faith  !  this 
must  be  told  at  once.  Remain  here  a  few  moments,  my  dear  Mr. 
Brand.     This  is  news  indeed." 

"  Wait  a  bit,  Calabrcssa.  I  came  to  you  to  get  the  name  of 
Natalie's  hotel :  and  where  is  Lord  Evelyn?" 

"  One  moment — one  moment,"  said  the  old  albino,  as  he  went 
out  and  shut  the  door  behind  him. 

When  Calabrcssa  ceased  to  talk  in  French,  he  also  ceased  to 
use  roundabout  literary-sentimental  metaphors;  and  his  report, 
delivered  in  the  next  room,  would  appear  to  have  been  brief 
enough  ;  for  almost  immediately  he  returned,  accompanied  by 
Von  Zoesch,  to  whom  Brand  was  introduced. 

"  I  am  honored  in  making  your  acquaintance,"  the  tall  soldier 
said,  in  a  pleasant  way.  "  I  have  heard  much  of  you  ;  you  are  a 
good  worker ;  likewise  you  do  not  flinch  when  a  duty  is  demand- 
ed of  you.  Perhaps,  if  you  would  only  condescend  to  re-enforce 
the  treasury  sometimes,  the  Council  would  be  still  further  grate- 
ful to  you.  However,  we  are  not  to  become  beggars  at  a  first 
interview — and  that  a  short  one,  necessarily — for  to-day  we  start 
for  Genoa." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that,"  Brand  said,  simply.  "  There  were  some 
representations  I  wished  to  lay  before  the  Council — some  very 
serious  representations." 

"  Perhaps  some  other  time,  then.  In  the  mean  while,  our 
hands  are  full.  And  that  reminds  me  that  the  news  you  bring 
makes  one  of  my  tasks  to-day  a  pleasant  one.  Yes,  I  remember 
something  of  that  maniac-fellow  babbling  about  a  saint  and  an 
angel — I  heard  of  it.  So  it  was  your  beautiful  Miss  Lind  who 
was  the  saint  and  the  angel  ?  "Well,  do  you  know  that  I  was 
about  to  aive  that  yount;  ladv  a  verv  o'ood  scoldina;  to-dav  f 

Brand  flushed  quickly.  The  authority  of  the  Council  had  no 
terrors  for  him  where  Natalie  was  concerned. 


450  SUNRISE. 

"  I  beg  to  remind  you,"  he  said,  respectfully  but  firmly,  "  that 
the  fact  of  Miss  Lind's  father  being  connected  with  the  Society 
gives  no  one  the  right  to  intermeddle  in  her  private  affairs — " 

"  Oh,  but,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Von  Zoesch,  laughing,  "  I  have 
ample  right.  Her  mother  Natalie  and  I  are  very  old  friends  in- 
deed. You  have  not  seen  the  charming  young  lady,  then,  since 
your  arrival  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Excellent — excellent !  You  shall  come  and  hear  the  scolding 
I  have  to  give  her.  Oh,  I  assure  you  it  will  not  harm  her  much. 
Calabressa  will  bring  you  along  to  the  Villa  Odelschalchi,  eleven 
sharp.  We  must  not  keep  a  lady — two  ladies,  indeed — waiting, 
after  making  an  appointment." 

He  rose  from  the  plain  wooden  chair  on  which  he  had  been 
sitting ;  and  his  visitor  had  to  rise  also.  But  Brand  stood  re- 
luctant to  go,  and  his  brows  were  drawn  down. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he,  "  but  if  you  arc  so  busy,  why 
not  depute  some  friend  of  the  young  lady  to  carry  her  a  mes- 
sage ?     A  girl  is  easily  frightened." 

"  No,  no,  my  dear  sir  ;  having  made  an  appointment,  must  we 
not  keep  it  ?  Come,  I  shall  expect  you  to  make  one  of  the  party  ; 
it  will  be  a  pleasant  little  comedy  before  we  go  to  more  serious 
matters.     Au  revoirf"     He  bowed  slightly,  and  withdrew. 

Some  little  time  afterward  Brand,  Evelyn,  and  Calabressa  were 
driving  along  the  rough  streets  in  an  open  carriage.  The  pres- 
ence of  Lord  Evelyn  had  been  a  last  concession  obtained  from 
General  von  Zoesch  by  Calabressa. 

"  Wliy  not  ?"  Von  Zoesch  had  said,  good-naturedly  ;  "  he  is 
one  of  us.  Besides,  there  is  nothing  of  importance  at  Portici. 
It  is  a  little  family  party ;  it  is  a  little  comedy  before  we  go  to 
Genoa." 

As  they  rattled  along,  Lord  Evelyn  was  very  talkative  and 
joyous.  He  had  seen  Natalie  the  evening  before,  within  an  hour 
after  his  arrival.  He  was  laughing  at  Brand  for  fearing  she  might 
have  been  induced  to  go  to  some  wretched  inn. 

"  I  myself,  did  I  not  say  to  you  it  was  a  beautiful  hotel  ?" 
said  Calabressa,  with  a  hurt  air.  "  The  most  beautiful  view  in 
Naples." 

"  I  think,  after  what  she  will  hear  to-day,"  said  Evelyn,  "  she 
ought  to  ask  us  to  dine  there.     That  would  be  an  English  way 


NATALIE    SPEAKS.  451 

of  fiiiisbing  up  all  her  trials  and  troubles."  But  lie  turned  to 
Calabrcssa  with  a  graver  look.  "  What  about  Lind  ?  AN'ill  they 
reinstate  him  now?     Will  they  send  him  back  to  England?" 

"Reinstate  him  in  oflice?"  said  Calabressa,  with  a  scornful 
smile.  "  My  faith,  no  !  Neither  him  nor  Beratinsky.  They 
will  give  them  letters  to  Montenegro:  isn't  it  enough  ?" 

"  Well,  I  think  so.     And  lieitzei  ?" 

"  Reitzei  has  been  stationed  at  Brindisi — one  of  our  moral  po- 
lice ;  and  lucky  for  him  also." 

When  they  arrived  at  the  Villa  Odclschalchi  they  were  shown 
into  a  little  anteroom  where  they  found  Granaglia,  and  he  was 
introduced  to  the  two  strangers. 

"  AVho  have  come  ?"  Calabressa  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

The  little  sallow-faced  Secretary  smiled. 

"Several  Brothers  of  the  Council,"  he  said.  "They  wish  to 
sec  this  young  lady  who  has  turned  so  many  heads.  You,  for 
example,  my  Calabressa,  are  mad  with  regard  to  lier.  Well,  they 
pay  her  a  compliment.  It  is  the  first  time  any  woman  has  been 
in  the  presence  of  the  Council." 

At  this  moment  Von  Zoesch  came  in,  and  hastily  threw  aside 
his  travelling-cloak. 

"  Come,  my  friends,"  said  he ;  and  he  took  them  with  him, 
leavino-  Granaa'lia  to  receive  the  ladies  when  thev  should  arrive. 

The  lofty  and  spacious  apartment  they  now  entered,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  corridor,  was  apparently  one  of  a  suite  of  rooms 
facing  the  sea.  Its  walls  were  decorated  in  Pompeian  fashion, 
Avith  simulated  trellis-work,  and  plenty  of  birds,  beasts,  and  fishes 
about;  but  the  massive  curtains  and  spreading  chandeliers  were 
all  covered  over  as  if  the  house  had  not  been  inhabited  for  some 
time.  All  that  was  displayed  of  the  furniture  of  the  chamber 
were  some  chairs  of  blue  satin,  with  white  and  gold  backs  and 
legs;  and  these  looked  strange  enough,  seeing  that  they  were 
placed  irregularly  round  an  oblong,  rough  deal  table,  which  looked 
as  if  it  had  just  come  from  the  workshop  of  some  neighboring 
carpenter.  At  or  near  this  table  several  men,  nearly  all  elderly, 
were  sitting,  talk'mg  carelessly  to  each  other ;  one  of  them,  in- 
deed, at  the  farthermost  corner,  was  a  venerable  patriarch,  who 
wore  a  large  soft  wide-awake  over  his  snow-white  hair.  At  the 
liead  of  the  table  sat  the  handsome,  pale-faced,  Greek -looking 
man  who  has  been  mentioned  as  one  Conventz.     He  was  writing 


452  SUNRISE. 

a  letter,  but  stopped  v.hen  Brand  and  Evelyn  were  introduced 
to  Lira.  Then  Calabressa  drew  in  some  more  of  tlie  gilt  and  blue 
chairs,  and  they  sat  down  close  by. 

Brand  kept  anxiously  looking  toward  the  door.  He  had  not 
long  to  wait.  When  it  opened,  Granaglia  appeared,  conducting 
into  the  room  two  figures  dressed  in  black.  These  dark  figures 
looked  impressive  in  the  great,  white,  empty  room. 

For  a  second  Natalie  stood  bewildered  and  irresolute,  seeing 
all  these  faces  turned  to  her ;  and  when  her  eyes  fell  on  her  lover, 
she  turned  deadly  pale.  But  she  went  forward,  along  with  her 
mother,  to  the  two  chairs  brought  for  them  by  Granaglia,  and  they 
sat  down.  The  mother  was  veiled.  Natalie  glanced  at  her  lover 
again ;  there  was  a  strange  look  in  his  face,  but  not  of  pain  or  fear. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  said  Von  Zoesch,  in  his  pleasantest 
wa}^  "  we  have  nothing  but  good  news  to  communicate  to  you, 
so  you  must  not  be  alarmed.  You  are  among  friends.  We  are 
o-oing  away  to-day  ;  we  all  wish  to  say  good-bye  to  you,  and  wish 
you  a  happy  journey  back  to  England ;  that  is  all.  But  I  will 
tell  you  that  my  first  object  in  asking  you  to  come  here  was  to 
give  you  a  good  rating ;  when  you  and  I  should  have  been  alone 
together  I  would  have  asked  you  if  you  had  n.o  consideration  for 
old  friends,  that  you  should  have  turned  away  from  my  colleague, 
Calabressa,  and  wounded  him  grievously.  I  would  have  reminded 
you  that  it  was  not  he,  but  you  yourself,  who  put  the  machinery 
in  motion  which  secured  your  father's  righteous  conviction." 

"  I  ask  you  to  spare  me,  signore,"  the  girl  said,  in  a  low  and 
trembling  voice. 

"  Oh,  i  am  not  now  going  to  scold  you,  my  dear  young  lady. 
I  intended  to  have  done  so.  I  intended  to  have  shown  you  that 
you  were  wrong,  and  exceedingly  ungrateful,  and  that  you  ought 
to  ask  pardon  of  my  friend  Calabressa.  However,  it  is  all  changed. 
You  need  not  fear  him  any  more ;  you  need  not  turn  away  from 
him.     Your  father  is  pardoned,  and  free !" 

She  looked  up,  uncertain,  as  if  she  had  not  heard  aright. 

"  I  repeat :  your  father  is  pardoned,  and  free.  You  shall  learn 
how  and  why  afterward.  Meanwhile  you  have  nothing  before 
you,  as  I  take  it,  but  to  reap  the  reward  of  your  bravery." 

She  did  not  hear  this  last  sentence.  She  had  turned  quickly 
to  her  mother. 

"Mother,  do  you  hear?"  she  said,  in  a  whisper. 


NATALIE    SPEAKS.  453 

"Yes,  yes,  child:  thank  God  !" 

"  Now,  you  sec,  my  dear  young  lady,"  Von  Zoesch  continued, 
"  it  is  not  a  scolding,  but  good  news  I  have  given  to  you ;  and 
nothing  remains  but  that  you  should  bid  us  good-bye,  and  say 
you  are  not  sorry  you  appealed  to  us  when  you  were  in  trouble, 
according  to  the  advice  of  your  good  friend  Calabressa.  See, 
I  have  brought  here  with  me  a  gentleman  whom  you  know, 
and  who  will  see  you  safe  back  to  Naples,  and  to  England ;  and 
another,  his  companion,  who  is  also,  I  understand,  an  old  friend  of 
yours :  you  will  have  a  pleasant  party.  Your  father  will  be  sent 
to  join  in  a  good  cause,  where  he  may  retrieve  his  name  if  he 
chooses;  you  and  your  friends  go  back  to  England.  So  I  may 
say  that  all  your  wislies  are  gratified  at  last,  and  we  have  nothing 
now  but  to  say  good-bye  !" 

The  girl  had  been  glancing  timidly  and  nervously  at  the  figures 
grouped  round  the  table,  and  her  breast  was  heaving.  She  rose ; 
perhaps  it  was  to  enable  herself  to  speak  more  freely ;  perhaps  it 
was  only  out  of  deference  to  those  seated  there. 

"  No,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  but  it  was  heard  clearly  enough 
in  the  silence.  "  I — I  would  say  a  word  to  you — w  hom  I  may 
not  sec  again.  Yes,  I  thank  you  —  from  my  heart;  you  have 
taken  a  great  trouble  away  from  my  life.  I — I  thank  you ;  but 
there  is  something  I  would  say." 

She  paused  for  a  second.  She  was  very  pale.  She  seemed  to 
be  nerving  herself  for  some  etfort ;  and,  strangely  enough,  her 
mother's  hand,  unseen,  was  stretched  up  to  her,  and  she  clasped  it 
and  held  it  tiii'lit.     It  irave  her  courao-e. 

"  It  is  true,  I  am  only  a  girl ;  you  are  my  elders,  and  you  are 
men  ;  but  I  have  known  good  and  brave  men  who  were  riot 
ashamed  to  listen  to  what  a  woman  thought  was  right ;  and  it 
is  as  a  woman  that  I  speak  to  you,"  she  said ;  and  her  voice,  low 
and  timid  as  it  was,  had  a  strange,  pathetic  vibration  in  it,  that 
went  to  the  heart.  "  I  have  suffered  much  of  late.  I  hope  no 
other  woman  will  ever  suffer  in  the  same  way." 

Again  she  hesitated,  but  for  the  last  time. 

*'  Oh,  gentlemen,  you  who  are  so  powerful,  you  who  profess 
to  seek  only  mercy  and  justice  and  peace,  why  should  you,  also, 
follow  the  old,  bad,  cruel  ways,  and  stain  yourselves  with  blood  ? 
Surely  it  is  not  for  you,  the  friends  of  the  poor,  the  champions 
of  the  weak,  the  teachers  of  the  people,  to  rely  on  the  weapon  of 


454  SUNRISE. 

the  assassin !  "When  you  go  to  the  world,  and  seek  for  help  and 
labor,  surely  you  should  go  with  clean  hands — so  that  the  wives 
and  the  sisters  and  the  daughters  of  those  who  may  join  you  may 
not  have  their  lives  made  terrible  to  thera.  It  is  not  a  reign  of 
terror  you  would  establish  on  the  earth  !  For  the  sake  of  those 
Avho  have  already  joined  you  —  for  the  sake  of  the  far  greater 
numbers  who  may  yet  be  your  associates — I  implore  you  to  aban- 
don these  secret  and  dreadful  means.  Surely,  gentlemen,  the 
blessing  of  Heaven  is  more  likely  to  follow  you  and  crown  your 
work  if  you  can  say  to  every  man  whom  you  ask  to  join  you, 
'  You  have  women-folk  around  you.  They  have  tender  consciences, 
perhaps ;  but  we  will  ask  of  you  nothing  that  your  sister  or 
your  wife  or  your  daughter  would  not  approve.'  Then  good  men 
will  not  be  afraid  of  you  ;  then  brave  men  will  not  have  to  stifle 
their  conscience  in  serving  you ;  and  whether  you  succeed  or  do 
not  succeed,  you  will  have  walked  in  clear  ways." 

Her  mother  felt  that  she  was  trembling  ;  but  her  voice  did  not 
tremble — beyond  that  pathetic  thrill  in  it  which  was  always  there 
when  she  was  deeply  moved. 

"  I  have  to  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  she  said,  addressing  herself 
more  particularly  to  Von  Zoesch,  but  scarcely  daring  to  lift  her 
eyes.  "  But — but  do  not  think  that,  when  you  have  made  every- 
thing smooth  for  a  woman's  happiness,  she  can  then  think  only 
of  herself.  She  also  may  think  a  little  about  others ;  and  even 
with  those  who  are  nearest  and  dearest  to  her,  how  can  she  bear 
to  know  that  perhaps  they  may  be  engaged  in  something  dark 
and  hidden,  something  terrible — not  because  it  involves  danger 
but  because  it  involves  shame  ?  Gentlemen,  if  you  choose,  you 
cah  do  this.  I  appeal  to  you.  I  implore  you.  If  you  do  not 
seek  the  co-operation  of  women — well,  that  is  a  light  matter; 
you  have  our  sympathy  and  love  and  gratitude — at  least  you  can 
pursue  ways  and  means  of  which  women  can  approve  ;  ways  and 
means  of  which  no  one,  man  or  woman,  needs  be  ashamed.  How 
otherwise  are  you  what  you  profess  to  be — the  lovers  of  what  is 
just  and  true  and  merciful  ?" 

She  sat  down,  still  all  trembling.  She  held  her  mother's  hand. 
There  was  a  murmur  of  sympathy  and  admiration. 

Brand  turned  to  Von  Zoesch,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice, 

"  You  hear,  sir  ?  These  are  the  representations  I  had  wished 
to  lay  before  the  Council.     I  have  not  a  word  to  add." 


NATALIE    SPEAKS.  455 

"We  will  consider  by-and-by,"  said  Von  Zoescli,  rising.  "  It  is 
not  a  fji'cat  matter.     Come  to  me  in  Genoa  as  you  pass  tlirouffh." 

But  the  tall  old  gentleman  with  the  long  white  hair  had  al- 
ready risen  and  gone  round  to  where  the  girl  sat,  and  i)Ut  his 
hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Mv  noble  child,  you  have  spoken  well,"  said  he,  in  a  quaver- 
ing, feeble  voice.  "  Forgive  me  that  I  come  so  near ;  my  eyes 
are  very  weak  now;  and  you  —  you  do  not  recognize  me  any 
more  ?" 

"  Anton  !"  said  the  mother. 

"  Child,"  said  he,  still  addressing  Natalie,  "  it  is  old  xVnton 
Pcpczinski  who  is  speaking  to  you.  But  you  are  disturbed ;  and 
I  have  greatly  changed,  no  doubt.  No  matter.  I  have  travelled 
a  long  way  to  bring  you  my  blessing,  and  I  give  it  to  you  now  : 
I  shall  not  see  vou  again  in  this  world.  You  were  ahvavs  brave 
and  good ;  be  that  to  the  end  ;  God  has  given  you  a  noble  soul." 

She  looked  up,  and  something  in  her  face  told  him  that  she 
had  recognized  him,  despite  the  changes  time  had  made. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  in  great  delight ;  "  you  remember  now 
that  you  used  to  bring  me  tobacco  for  my  pipe,  and  ask  if  I 
would  fight  for  your  country  ;  I  can  see  it  in  your  eyes,  my 
child  :  you  remember,  then,  the  old  Anton  Pepczinski  who  used 
to  bring  you  sweet  things  I  Now  come  and  take  me  to  the  Eng- 
lish gentleman  ;  I  wish  to  speak  to  him.  Tell  me,  does  he  love 
you — does  he  understand  you  ?" 

She  was  silent,  and  embarrassed. 

"No!  you  will  not  speak?"  the  old  man  said,  laughing;  "you 
cast  your  eyes  down. again.  See,  now,  how  one  changes!  for 
in  former  days  you  made  love  openly  enough — oh  yes ! — to  me, 
to  me  myself — oh,  my  dear,  I  can  remember.  I  can  remember 
very  well.      1  am  not  so  old  that  I  cannot  remember." 

Brand  rose  when  he  saw  them  comirg.  She  regarded  him 
earnestly  for  a  brief  second  or  two,  and  said  something  to  him  in 
Eno-lish  in  an  undertone,  not  understood  by  those  standing  round. 


456  SUNRISE. 


CHAPTER  LX. 

NEW    SHORES. 

The  moonliglit  lay  on  the  moving  Atlantic,  and  filled  the  hol- 
low world  with  a  radiance  soft  and  gray  and  vague ;  but  it  struck 
sharp  and  white  on  the  polished  rails  and  spars  of  this  great 
steamer,  and  shone  on  the  long  and  shapely  decks,  and  on  the 
broad  track  of  foam  that  went  away  back  and  back  and  back 
until  it  was  lost  in  the  horizon.  It  was  late ;  and  nearly  all  the 
passengers  had  gone  below.  In  the  silence  there  was  only  heard 
the  monotonous  sound  of  the  engines,  and  the  continuous  rush 
and  seething  of  the  waters  as  the  huge  vessel  clove  its  way  on- 
ward. 

Out  there  by  the  rail,  in  the  Avhite  light,  Natalie  Lind  lay  back 
in  her  chair,  all  wrapped  up  in  furs,  and  her  lover  was  by  her 
side,  on  a  rug  on  the  deck,  his  hand  placed  over  her  hand. 

"To-morrow,  then,  Natalie,"  he  was  saying,  "  you  will  get  your 
first  glimpse  of  America." 

"  So  you  see  I  have  procured  your  banishment  after  all,"  she 
said,  with  a  smile. 

"  Not  you,"  was  the  answer.  "  I  had  thought  of  it  often.  For 
a  new  life,  a  new  world ;  and  it  is  a  new  life  you  and  I  are  begin- 
ing  together." 

Here  the  bell  in  the  steering-room  struck  the  half-hour ;  it  was 
repeated  by  the  lookout  forward.  The  sound  was  strange,  in  the 
silence. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  after  a  while,  "after  we  have  done  a 
fair  share  of  work,  we  might  think  ourselves  entitled  to  rest ;  and 
what  better  could  we  do  than  go  back  to  England  for  a  time,  and 
go  down  to  the  old  place  in  Buckinghamshire  ?  Then  Mrs.  Al- 
leyne  would  be  satisfied  at  last.  How  proud  the  old  dame  was 
when  she  recognized  you  from  your  portrait !  She  thought  all 
her  dreams  had  come  true,  and  that, there  was  nothing  left  but  to 
go  down  to  the  Checkers  and  carry  off  that  old  cabinet  as  a  wed- 
ding-present." 


NEW    SHORES.  457 

"Natalie,"  be  said,  presently,  "  liow  is  it  that  you  always  man- 
age to  do  the  right  thing  at  the  right  time?  AVhen  Mrs.  Alleyne 
took  your  luothor  and  you  in  to  the  Checkers,  and  old  Mrs.  Dig- 
gles  led  you  into  her  parlor  and  dust(<l  the  table  with  her  apron, 
what  made  you  think  of  asking  her  for  a  piece  of  cake  and  a  cup 
of  tea  ?" 

"  My  dearest,  I  saw  the  cake  in  the  bar !"  slie  exclaimed. 

"  I  believe  the  old  woman  was  ready  to  faint  with  delight  wlien 
you  praised  her  currant-wine,  and  asked  how  she  made  it.  You 
have  a  wonderful  way  of  getting  round,  people — whether  by  fair 
means  or  otherwise  I  don't  know.  Do  you  think  if  it  had  been 
anybody  else  but  you  who  went  to  Von  Zoesch  in  Genoa,  he 
would  have  let  Calabressa  come  with  us  to  America  V 

" Poor  old  Calabressa !"  she  said,  laughing;  "he  is  very  brave 
now  about  the  sea;  but  he  was  terribly  frightened  that  bad  night 
we  had  after  leaving  Quccnstown." 

Here  some  one  appeared  in  the  dusky  recess  at  the  top  of  the 
companion-stairs,  and  stepped  out  into  the  open. 

"Are  you  people  never  coming  below  at  all?"  he  said.  "I 
have  to  inform  you,  Miss  Natalie,  with  your  mamma's  compli- 
ments, that  she  can't  get  on  with  her  English  verbs  because  of 
that  fat  girl  playing  Strauss ;  and  that  she  is  going  to  her  cabin, 
and  wants  to  know  when  you  are  coming." 

"Now,  at  once,"  said  Natalie,  getting  up  out  of  her  chair. 
"But  wait  a  moment,  Evelyn  :  I  cannot  go  without  bidding  good- 
night to  Calabressa.     Where  is  Calabressa?" 

"Calabressa?  Oh,  in  the  smoking-room,  betting  like  mad,  and 
going  in  for  all  the  mock-auctions.  I  expect  some  of  them  will 
sit  up  all  night  to  get  their  first  sight  of  the  land.  The  pilot  ex- 
pects that  will  be  shortly  after  daybreak." 

"You  will  be  up  in  time  for  that,  Natalie,  won't  you?"  Brand 
asked. 

"Oh  yes.     Good-night,  Evelyn  !"  and  she  gave  liim  her  hand. 

Brand  went  with  her  down  the  companion-stairs,  carrying  her 
rugs  and  shawls.  In  the  corridor  she  turned  to  bid  him  good- 
night also. 

"Dearest,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "do  you  know  what  T  have 
been  trying  all  day  —  to  get  you  to  say  one  word,  the  smallest 
word,  of  regret  ?" 

"  But  if  I  have  no  regret  whatever,  how  can  I  express  any  ?" 

23 


458  SUNRISE. 

"  Sure  ?" 

He  laughed,  and  kissed  her. 

"  Good-nio-lit,  mv  darlin"- !" 

"  Good-night ;  God  bless  you  !" 

Then  he  made  his  way  along  the  gloomy  corridor  again,  and 
up  the  broad  zinc  steps,  and  out  into  the  moonlight.  Evelyn 
was  there,  leaning  with  his  anus  on  the  hand-rail,  and  idly  watch- 
ing, far  below,  the  gleams  of  light  on  the  gray-black  waves. 

"  It  is  too  fine  a  night  to  go  below,"  he  said.  "  What  do  you 
say.  Brand — shall  we  wait  up  for  the  daylight  and  the  first  glimpse 
of  America  ?" 

"  If  you  like,"  said  Brand,  taking  out  his  cigar-case,  and  haul- 
ing along  the  chair  in  which  Natalie  had  been  sitting. 

They  had  the  whole  of  this  upper  deck  to  themselves,  except 
when  one  or  other  of  the  officers  passed  on  his  rounds.  They 
could  talk  without  risk  of  being  overheard ;  and  they  had  plenty 
to  talk  about — of  all  that  had  happened  of  late,  of  all  that  might 
happen  to  them  in  this  new  country  they  were  nearing. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  Evelyn,  that  settlement  in  Genoa  clinched 
everything,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned.  I  have  no  longer  any 
doubt,  any  hesitation  ;  there  is  nothing  to  be  concealed  now — 
nothing  to  be  withheld,  even  from  those  who  are  content  to  re- 
main merely  as  our  friends.  One  might  have  gone  on  as  before ; 
for,  after  all,  these  death-penalties  only  attached  to  the  officers ; 
and  the  great  mass  of  the  members,  not  being  touched  by  them, 
need  have  known  nothing  about  them.     But  it  is  better  now." 

"  It  was  Natalie's  appeal  that  settled  that,"  Lord  Evelyn  said, 
as  he  still  watched  the  shining  waves. 

"  The  influence  of  that  girl  is  extraordinary.  One  could  im- 
agine that  some  magnetism  radiated  from  her :  or  perhaps  it  is 
her  voice,  and  her  clear  faith,  and  her  enthusiasm.  When  she 
said  something  to  old  Anton  Pepczinski,  on  bidding  him  good- 
bye— not  about  herself,  or  about  him,  but  about  what  some  of  us 
were  hoping  for — he  was  crying  like  a  child  !  In  other  times 
she  might  have  done  great  things :  she  might  have  led  armies." 

By-and-by  he  said, 

"  As  for  those  decrees,  what  use  were  they  ?  From  all  I  could 
learn,  only  ten  have  been  issued  since  the  Society  was  in  exist- 
ence ;  and  eight  of  those  were  for  the  punishment  of  officers, 
who  ought  merely  to  have  been  expelled.     Of  course,  you  will 


NEW    SHORES.  4j<J 

get  people  like  Calabressa,  with  a  touch  of  theatrical-niindedness, 
who  have  a  love  for  the  terrorism  sucli  a  tliinij  can  produce.  But 
what  use  is  it  ?  It  is  not  by  strikini^  down  an  individual  here  or 
there  that  you  can  help  on  any  wide  movement ;  and  this  great 
organization,  that  I  can  see  in  the  future  will  have  other  things 
to  do  than  take  heed  of  personal  delinquencies — except  in  so  far 
as  to  purge  out  from  itself  unworthy  members — its  action  will 
affect  continents,  not  persons." 

"You  can  see  that  —  you  believe  that,  Brand?"  Lord  Evelyn 
said,  turning  and  regarding  him. 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,"  he  answered,  without  enthusiasm,  but  with 
simple  sincerity.  Presently  he  said,  "  You  remember,  Evelyn, 
the  morning  we  turned  out  of  the  little  inn  on  the  top  of  the 
Niessen,  to  see  the  sun  rise  over  the  Bernese  Alps  ?" 

"I  remember  it  was  precious  cold,"  said  Lord  Evelyn, almost 
■with  a  shiver. 

"You  remember,  when  we  got  to  the  highest  point,  we  looked 
down  into  the  great  valleys,  where  the  lakes  and  the  villages 
were,  and  there  it  was  still  night  under  the  heavy  clouds.  But 
before  us,  whoi'e  the  peaks  of  the  Jungfrau,  and  the  Wetterhorn, 
and  the  rest  of  them  rose  into  the  clear  sky,  there  was  a  curious 
faint  light  that  showed  the  day  was  coming.  And  we  waited 
and  watched,  and  the  light  grew  stronger,  and  all  sorts  of  colors 
began  to  show  along  the  peaks.  That  was  the  sunrise.  But 
down  in  the  valleys  everything  was  misty  and  dark  and  cold — 
everything  asleep  ;  the  people  there  could  see  nothing  of  the  new 
day  we  were  looking  at.  And  so  I  suppose  it  is  with  us  now.  "We 
are  looking  ahead.  We  see,  or  fancy  we  see,  the  light  before  the 
others  ;  but,  sooner  or  latter,  they  will  see  it  also,  for  the  sunrise 
is  bound  to  come." 

They  continued  talking,  and  they  paced  up  and  down  the 
decks,  while  the  half-hours  and  hours  were  struck  by  the  bells. 
The  moon  was  declining  to  the  horizon.  Long  ago  the  last  of 
the  revellers  had  left  the  smokinfj-room,  and  there  was  nothinir 
to  interrupt  the  stillness  but  the  surge  of  the  waters. 

Then  again — 

"Have  you  noticed  Natalie's  mother  of  late?  It  is  a  pleasure 
to  watch  the  poor  woman's  face ;  she  seems  to  drink  in  happiness 
by  merely  looking  at  her  daughter;  every  time  that  Natalie  laughs 
you  can  see  her  mother's  eyes  brighten." 


460  SUNRISE. 

"  I  have  noticed  a  great  cliange  in  Natalie  herself,"  Evelyn  saUl. 
"She  is  looking  younger;  she  has  lost  that  strange,  half-appre- 
hensive expression  of  the  eyes ;  and  she  seems  to  be  in  excellent 
spirits.     Calabressa  is  more  devotedly  her  slave  than  ever." 

"You  should  liave  seen  him  when  Von  Zoesch  told  him  to 
pack  up  and  be  off  to  America." 

By-and-by  he  said, 

"  You  know,  Evelyn,  if  you  can't  stay  in  America  with  us  alto- 
gether— and  that  would  be  too  much  to  expect — don't  say  any- 
thing as  yet  to  Natalie  about  your  going  back.  She  has  the  no- 
tion that  our  little  colony  is  to  be  founded  as  a  permanency." 

"  Oh,  I  am  in  no  hurry,"  said  Evelyn,  carelessly.  "  Things  will 
get  along  at  home  well  enough  without  me.  Didn't  I  tell  you 
that,  once  those  girls  began  to  go,  they  would  go  like  lightning? 
It  is  rough  on  Blanche,  though,  that  Truda  should  come  next. 
By-the-way,  in  any  case,  Brand,  I  must  remain  in  America  for 
your  wedding." 

"Oh,  you  will,  will  you  ?"  said  Brand.  "  Then  that  settles  one 
point — you  won't  be  going  back  very  soon." 

"  Why  ?" 

"  Of  course,  Natalie  and  I  won't  marry  until  she  is  of  age ; 
that  is  a  good  year  and  a  half  yet.  Did  you  liear  of  Calabressa's 
mad  proposal  that  he  should  extort  from  Lind  his  consent  to 
our  marriage  as  the  price  of  the  good  news  that  he,  Calabressa, 
had  to  reveal?     Like  him,  wasn't  it?  an  ingenious  scheme." 

"  ^Vhat  did  you  say  ?" 

"  Why,  what  could  I  say  ?  I  would  not  be  put  under  any 
obligation  to  Lind  on  any  account  whatever.  We  can  wait;  it 
is  not  a  long  time." 

The  moonlight  waned,  and  there  was  another  light  slowly  de- 
claring itself  in  the  east.  The  two  friends  continued  talking,  and 
did  not  notice  how  that  the  cold  blue  light  beyond  the  sea  was 
gradually  yielding  to  a  silver-gray.  The  pilot  and  first  mate,  who 
were  on  the  bridge,  had  just  been  joined  by  the  captain. 

The  silver- gray  in  its  turn  gave  place  to  a  clear  yellow,  and 
high  up  one  or  two  flakes  of  cloud  became  of  a  saffron-red.  Then 
the  burning  edge  of  the  sun  appeared  over  the  waves ;  the  world 
lightened  ;  the  masts  and  funnels  of  the  steamer  caught  the  glory 
streaming  over  from  the  east.  The  ship  seemed  to  waken  also; 
one  or  two  stragglers  came  tumbling  up  from  below,  rubbing  their 


NEW    SnOKES.  401 

e}'es,  and  staring  strangely  around  them  ;  but  as  yet  no  land  was 
in  sight. 

The  sunrise  now  flooded  the  sky  and  tlic  sea ;  the  numbers  of 
those  on  deck  increased ;  and  at  last  there  was  an  eager  passing 
round  of  binoculars,  and  a  murmur  of  eager  interest.  Those  w  ith 
sharp  eyes  enough  could  make  out,  right  ahead,  in  the  midst  of 
the  pale  glow  of  the  morning,  a  thin  blue  line  of  coast. 

The  great  steamer  surged  on  through  the  sunlit  waters.  And 
now  even  those  who  were  without  glasses  could  distinguish,  here 
and  there  along  that  line  of  pale-blue  land,  a  touch  of  yellowish- 
white;  and  they  guessed  that  the  new  world  there  was  already 
shining  with  the  light  of  the  new  day.  Brand  felt  a  timid,  small 
liand  glide  into  his.  Natalie  was  standing  beside  him,  her  beau- 
tiful black  hair  a  trifle  dishevelled,  perhaps,  and  her  eyes  still 
bearing  traces  of  her  having  been  in  the  realm  of  dreams ;  but 
those  eyes  were  full  of  tenderness,  nevertheless,  as  she  met  his 
look,  lie  asked  her  if  she  could  make  out  that  strip  of  coast  be- 
yond the  shining  waters. 

"  Can  you  see,  Natalie  ?     It  is  our  future  home  !" 

"Oh  yes,  I  can  see  it,"  she  said;  "and  the  sunrise  is  there  be- 
fore us :  it  is  a  happy  sign." 

******* 

There  remains  to  be  added  only  this — that  about  the  last  thing 
Natalie  Lind  did  before  leaving  England  was  to  go  and  plant  some 
flowers,  carefully  and  tenderly,  on  Kirski's  grave  ;  and  that  about 
the  first  thing  she  did  on  landing  in  America  was  to  write  to  Ma- 
dame Poteeki,  asking  her  to  look  after  the  little  Anneli,  and  send- 
ini;  many  loving  messages:  for  this  girl — or,  rather, this  beautiful 
child,  as  Calabressa  would  persist  in  calling  her  —  had  a  large 
heart,  that  could  hold  many  affections  and  many  memories,  and 
that  was  not  capable  of  forgetting  any  one  who  had  been  kind 
to  her. 


THE    END. 


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Valmibk  Worku  for  Puhlic  and  Private  Libraries.  3 


TREVKLYAN'S  LIFE  OF  MACAULAY.  The  Life  and  Letters  of 
Lord  RIacaulay.  By  his  Neplicw,  G.  Otto  Tkevelyan,  M.P.  With 
Portrait  on  Steel.  Complete  in  2  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  Uncut  Edges 
and  Gilt  Tops,  !*r,  00;  Sheep,  $G  00;  Half  Calf,  $9  50.  Popular 
Edition,  two  vols,  in  one,  12ino,  Cloth,  $1  75. 

TREVELYAN'S  LIFE  OF  FOX.  The  Early  History  of  Charles 
James  Fox.  IJy  GKORGt:  Otto  TKKViiLYAN.  8vo,  Cloth,  Uncut 
Edges  and  Gilt  Tops,  $2  50;  4to,  Paper,  15  cents. 

HUDSON'S  HISTORY  OF  JOURNALISM.  Journalism  in  the 
United  States,  from  1G9()  to  1872.  By  Fkedeuic  Hudson.  8vo, 
Cloth,  $5  00  ;   Half  Calf,  $7  25. 

LAMB'S  COMPLETE  WORKS.  The  Works  of  Charles  Lamb. 
Comprising  his  Letters,  Poems,  Essays  of  Elia,  Essays  upon  Shak- 
speave,  Hoparth,  etc.,  and  a  Sketch  of  his  Life,  with  the  Final  Memo- 
rials, by  T.  Noon  Talfouuu.  With  Portrait.  2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth, 
$3  00. 

LAWRENCE'S  HISTORICAL  STUDIES.  Historical  Studies.  By 
Eugene  Lawrence.  Containing  the  following  Essays :  The  Bish- 
ops of  Rome.— Leo  and  Lntlier.— Loyola  and  the  Jesuits.— Ecu- 
menical Councils. — The  Vaudois.— Tiie  Huguenots.— The  Church  of 
Jerusalem. — Dominic  and  the  Inquisition. — The  Conquest  of  Ireland. 
—The  Greek  Church.  8vo,  Cloth,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Tops, 
$3  00. 

LOSSING'S  FIELD-BOOK  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  Pictorial 
Field-Book  of  the  Revolution  ;  or,  llliistraiions  by  Pen  and  Pencil 
of  the  History,  Biography,  Scenery,  Relics,  and  Traditions  of  the 
War  for  Indei)cndence.  By  Benson  J.  Lossing.  2  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth, 
$14  00;   Sheep  or  Roan,  $15  00;  Half  Calf,  $18  00. 

LOSSING'S  FIELD-BOOK  OF  THE  WAR  OF  1812.  Pictorial 
Ficld-Book  of  the  War  of  1812;  or.  Illustrations  by  Pen  and  Pencil 
of  the  History,  Biography,  Scenery,  Relics,  and  Traditions  of  the  last 
War  for  American  Independence.  By  Benson  J.  Lossing.  With 
several  hundred  Engravings  on  Wood  by  Lossing  and  Barritt,  chiefly 
from  Original  Sketches  by  the  Author.  1088  pages,  8vo,  Cloth, 
$7  00 ;  Sheep,  $8  50 ;  Roan,  $9  00 ;  Half  Calf,  $10  00. 

FORSTER'S  LIFE  OF  DEAN  SWIFT.  The  Early  Life  of  Jonathan 
Swift  (1007-1711).  By  John  FousTEK.  With  Portrait.  8vo,  Cloth, 
Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Tops,  $2  50. 

GREEN'S  ENGLISH  PEOPLE.  History  of  the  English  People.  By 
John  Khhakij  Gkeen,  M.A,  Four  Volumes.  8vo,  Cloth,  $2  50 
per  volume. 


4  Valuable  Works  for  Public  and  Private  Libraries. 

SHORTS  NORTH  AMERICANS  OF  ANTIQUITY.  The  North 
Americans  of  Antiquity.  Their  Origin,  Migrations,  and  Type  of 
Civilization  Considered.  By  John  T.  Short.  Illustrated.  8vo, 
Cloth,  $3  00. 

SQUIER'S  PERU.  Peru :  Incidents  of  Travel  and  Exploration  in 
the  Land  of  the  Incas.  By  E.  George  Sqdier,  M.A.,  F.S.A.,  late 
U.  S.  Commissioner  to  Peru.    With  Illustrations.     8vo,  Cloth,  $5  00, 

BLAIKIE'S  LIFE  OF  DAVID  LIVINGSTONE.     Dr.  Livingstone: 
Memoir  of  his  Personal  Life,  from  his  Unpublished  Journals  and, 
Correspondence.     By  W.  G.  Blaikie,  D.D.,  LL.D.     With  Portrait 
and  Map.     8vo,  Cloth,  $3  50. 

MAURY'S  PHYSICAL  GEOGRAPHY  OF  THE  SEA.  The  Physi- 
cal Geography  of  the  Sea,  and  its  Meteorology.  By  M.  F.  Maury, 
LL.D.     8vo,  Cloth,  $-i  00. 

SCHWEINFURTH'S  HEART  OF  AFRICA.  The  Heart  of  Africa. 
Three  Years'  Travels  and  Adventures  in  the  Unexplored  Regions  of 
the  Centre  of  Africa — from  1868  to  1871.  By  Dr.  Georg  Schwein- 
FURTH.  Translated  by  Ellen  E.  Frewer.  With  an  Introduction 
by  W.  WiNwooD  Reade.     Illustrated.     2  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  ^8  00. 

M'CLINTOCK  &  STRONG'S  CYCLOPEDIA.  Cyclopiedia  of  Bib- 
lical, Theological,  and  Ecclesiastical  Literature.  Prepared  by  the 
Rev.  John  M'Clintock,  D.D.,  and  James  Strong,  S.T.D.  9  vols, 
now  ready.  Royal  8vo.  Price  per  vol.,  Cloth,  $5  00  ;  Sheep,  $6  00  ; 
Half  Morocco,  $8  00. 

MOHAMMED  AND  MOHAMMEDANISM  :  Lectures  Delivered  at 
the  Royal  Institution  of  Great  Britain  in  February  and  March,  1874. 
By  R.  Bosworth  Smith,  M.A.  With  an  Appendix  containing 
Emanuel  Deutsch's  Article  on  "  Islam."     12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 

MOSHEIMS  ECCLESIASTICAL  HISTORY,  Ancient  and  Modern ; 
in  which  the  Rise,  Progress,  and  Variation  of  Church  Power  are  con- 
sidered in  their  Connection  with  the  State  of  Learning  and  Philos- 
ophy, and  the  Political  History  of  Europe  during  that  Period.  Trans- 
lated, with  Notes,  etc.,  by  A.  Maclaine,  D.D.  Continued  to  1826, 
by  C.  CooTE,  LL.D.     2  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  $4  00 ;   Sheep,  $5  00. 

HARPER'S  NEW  CLASSICAL  LIBRARY.  Literal  Translations. 
The  following  volumes  are  now  ready.  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  ,50  each. 
C^SAR.  —  Virgil. —  Sallust.  —  Horace.  —  Cicero's  Orations. — 
Cicero's  Offices,  etc. — Cicero  on  Oratory  and  Orators. — 
Tacitus  (2  vols.). — Terence. — Sophocles. — Juvenal. — Xeno- 
PHON. — Homer's  Iliad. — Homer's  Odyssey. — Herodotus. — De- 
mosthenes (2  vols.). — Thucydides. — Eschylus. — Euripides  (2 
vols.).— LiVY  (2  vols.).— Plato  [Select  Dialogues]. 


Valuable  Works /or  Public  and  Private  Libraries.  ti 

VINCENT'S  LAND  OF  THE  WHITE  ELEPHANT.  The  Land 
of  the  Wliite  Elepliiiiit :  Sights  and  Scenes  in  Southeastern  Asia.  A 
Personal  Narrative  of  Travel  and  Adventure  in  Fartlier  India,  em- 
bracing the  Countries  of  Burma,  Siam,  Cambodia,  and  Cochin-China 
(1871-L').  By  FuANK  Vincknt,  Jr.  lihistrated.  Crown  8vo, 
Cloth,  $'d  50. 

LIVINGSTONE'S  SOUTH  AFRICA.  Missionary  Travels  and  Re- 
searches in  South  Africa:  including  a  Sketch  of  Sixteen  Years' 
Residence  in  the  Interior  of  Africa,  and  a  Journey  from  the  Cape  of 
Good  Hope  to  Loanda  on  tiio  West  Coast ;  thence  across  the  Con- 
tinent, down  the  River  Zambesi,  to  the  Eastern  Ocean.  By  David 
Livingstone,  LL.D.,  D.C.L.  With  Portrait,  Maps,  and  Illustra- 
tions.     8vo,  Cloth,  i*  50;  Sheep,  $5  00  ;   Half  Calf,  $G  75. 

LIVINGSTONE'S  ZAMBESL  Narrative  of  an  Expedition  to  the 
Zambesi  and  its  Tributaries,  and  of  tiic  Discovery  of  the  Lakes  Shir- 
wa  and  Nyassa,  1858-18G4.  By  David  and  Charles  Livingstone. 
Map  and  Illustrations.     8vo,  Cloth,  $5  00 ;  Sheep,  $5  50;  Half  Calf, 

$7  25. 

LIVINGSTONE'S  LAST  JOURNALS.  The  Last  Journals  of  David 
Livingstone,  in  Central  Africa,  from  1SG5  to  his  Death.  Continued 
by  a  Narrative  of  his  Last  Moments  and  Sutferings,  obtained  from 
his  Faitiiful  Servants  Chuma  and  Susi.  By  Horace  Walleb, 
F.R.G.S.,  Rector  of  Twyweil,  Northampton.  With  Portrait,  Maps, 
and  Illustrations.  8vo,  Cloth,  $5  00  ;  Sheep,  $5  50 ;  Half  Calf, 
$7  25.  Ciieap  Popular  Edition,  8vo,  Cloth,  with  Map  and  Illustra- 
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NORDHOFF'S  COMMUNISTIC  SOCIETIES  OF  THE  UNITED 
STATES.  The  Communistic  Societies  of  the  United  States,  from 
Personal  Visit  and  Observation  ;  including  Detailed  Accounts  of  the 
Economists,  Zoaritei^  Shakers,  the  Amana.  Oneida,  Bethel,  Aurora, 
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ligious Creeds  and  Practices,  their  Social  Theories  and  Life,  Num- 
bers, Industries,  and  Present  Condition.  By  Charles  Nobdhoff. 
Illustrations.     8vo,  Cloth,  $4  00. 

NORDHOFF'S  CALIFORNIA.  California:  for  Health,  Pleasure, 
and  Residence.  A  Book  for  Travellers  and  Settlers.  Illustrated. 
8vo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 

NORDHOFF'S  NORTHERN  CALFFORNIA  AND  THE  SAND- 
WICH ISLANDS.  Northern  Californi.a,  Oregon,  and  the  Sandwich 
Islands.     By  Charles  NoimnoFF.     Illustrated.     8vo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 

GROTES  HISTORY  OF  GREECE.  12  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $18  00 ; 
Sheep,  $22  80  ;  Half  Calf,  $39  00. 


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RECLUS'S  EARTH.  The  Earth:  a  Descriptive  History  of  the  Phe- 
nomena of  tlie  Life  of  the  Globe.  By  £lis£e  Reclus.  With  234 
Maps  and  Illustrations,  and  23  Page  Maps  printed  in  Colors.  8vo, 
Cloth,  i5  00. 

RECLUS'S  OCEAN.  The  Ocean,  Atmosphere,  and  Life.  Being  the 
Second  Series  of  a  Descriptive  History  of  the  Life  of  the  Globe.  By 
Elisee  Reclus.  Profusely  Illustrated  with  250  Maps  or  Figures, 
and  27  Maps  printed  in  Colors.     8vo,  Cloth,  $6  00. 

SHAKSPEARE.  The  Dramatic  Works  of  William  Shakspeare.  With 
Corrections  and  Notes.  Engravings.  6  vols.,  12mo,  Clotli,  $9  00. 
2  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  $4  00;  Sheep,  $5  00.  In  one  vol.,  8vo,  Sheep, 
$4  00. 

BAKER'S  ISMAILIA.  Isniailia:  a  Narrative  of  the  Expedition  to 
Central  Africa  for  the  Sujjpression  of  the  Slave-trade,  organized  by 
Ismail,  Khedive  of  Egypt.  By  Sir  Samuel  White  Baker,  Pasha, 
F.R.S.,  F.R.G.S.  With  Maps,  Portraits,  and  Illustrations.  Svo, 
Cloth,  $5  00  ;  Half  Calf,  $7  25. 

GRIFFISS  JAPAN.  The  Mikado's  Empire  :  Book  I.  History  of  Ja- 
pan, from  GGO  B.C.  to  1872  A.D.  Book  II.  Personal  Experiences, 
Observations,  and  Studies  in  Japan,  1870-1874.  By  William  El- 
liot Gkiffis,  A.m.,  late  of  the  Imperial  University  of  Tokio,  Japan. 
Copiously  Illustrated.      8vo,  Cloth,  $4  00  ;  Half  Calf,  |G  25. 

SMILES'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  HUGUENOTS.  The  Hugueno*ts: 
their  Settlements,  Churches,  and  Industries  in  England  and  Ireland. 
By  Samuel  Smiles.  With  an  Appendix  relating  to  the  Huguenots 
in  America.     Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

SMILES'S  HUGUENOTS  AFTER  THE  REVOCATION.  The  Hu- 
guenots in  France  after  the  Revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes  ;  with 
a  Visit  to  the  Country  of  the  Vaudois.  By  Samuel  Smiles.  Crown 
Svo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

SMILES'S  LIFE  OF  THE  STEPHENSONS.  The  Life  of  George 
Steplienson,  and  of  his  Son,  Robert  Stephenson  ;  comprising,  also, 
a  History  of  the  Invention  and  Introduction  of  the  Railway  Loco- 
motive. By  Samuel  Smiles.  With  Steel  Portraits  and  numerous 
Illustrations.     Svo,  Cloth,  $3  00. 

RAWLINSON'S  MANUAL  OF  ANCIENT  HISTORY.  A  Manual 
of  Ancient  History,  from  the  Earliest  Times  to  the  Fall  of  the 
Western  Empire.  Comprising  the  History  of  Chaldaa,  Assyria,  Me- 
dia, Babylonia,  Lydia,  Phcenicia,  Syria,  Judaea,  Egypt,  Carthage, 
Persia,  Greece,  Macedonia,  Parthia,  and  Rome.  By  George  Raw- 
LiNSON,  M.A.,  Camden  Professor  of  Ancient  History  in  the  Univer- 
sity of  Oxford.     12mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 


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